Under a Forlorn Sun
by Filthy Landlubber
Summary: Heroes? Us? No, we are no heroes. We never will be. Of all the possible names, only a fool could call us heroes. We are outcasts, looking for a way home.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Hello, and welcome to the rather small prologue for this new story. Let me start by thanking my friend and beta reader "doesthiscountasusername", hoping I wrote that right, for having helped me from the very beginning of my writing adventures. Thank the Divines I've got someone to help me with this.**

 **So, this is a bit of an experiment of mine - yet not because of the idea at its core, no. This is merely a complete overhaul and re-imagining of my previous and not-so-well-written fanfiction, "Dragons of the Mojave", which I abandoned for lack of ideas and will to write. I'd just grown tired of that one, seeing how there was no ending in sight and I hadn't planned ahead. I have taken the concept, locations and main characters' personalities, improved upon them, made plans, and started anew. Nothing experimental in that, more like recycling assets I was too fond of to let go.**

 **No, no, this could be called an experiment (for me, anyway) because I have the intention of writing it entirely in first person. Good choice, bad choice? Don't know. Call it testing my skills in hopes of improving as an author, call it being insane, you're probably correct either way. Since I'm not sadistic, however, I have associated different symbols to the various characters to make it more... well, not immediate, but understandable. Or at least, I had intended to do so, yet this website does not support simple ASCII characters. I have therefore gone for cards, so keep those in mind. You'll see.**

 **A teensy-weensy final word, and I promise I won't be bothering you anymore until the very last chapter: unless something catastrophic happens or I grow too lazy to write so much as half a page a day, I will upload a new chapter on the first day of every month. If you start seeing chapters every two weeks, that means the story is complete. Don't worry, it will take me a good while to get there.  
**

 **Without further ado, enjoy the read. Here begins...**

 **"UNDER A FORLORN SUN"**

* * *

 **\- JOKER -**

The sun scorches everything beneath it, the air hot and arid as the devil's breath. There is no mercy to be found under the unforgiving rays, no shelter out here in the desert. Just an endless stretch of ruined asphalt and sand for miles in all directions. Only the rusted wrecks on either side of the Interstate break the deathly monotony of the landscape.

And my van rolling down the road, too.

Well, it's not exactly a van. It's an old APC of the long-gone Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. It's also about as far from the stock version as it could be. I had the original engine swapped for one that ran on energy cells, seeing how diesel hasn't been refined on this world for over two hundred years. Not as noisy, and definitely not as powerful, but it gets the job done. It was black, a long time ago, but now it's rusted to all hell. The sirens' electronics are completely fried, and you can barely see 'SWAT' written on the sides.

Still, long as the plating holds, I don't care. This armor has stopped more bullets, blades, claws and fangs than I care to count. The bulletproof windscreen still holds, as do the tires. Circumstances have brought me to add a few iron spikes on the fenders, doors and windows, along with a crude cage armor of lead piping that I was careful enough to line with barbed wire. I'm more than willing to sacrifice a bit of visibility to make sure no rocket smacks me in the face.

I've tried to keep the inside as clean as possible with the admittedly few means at my disposal. I changed the old seat covers for shiny brown brahmin leather some five years ago. The steering wheel is simple, black, as is the gearshift - and no, I won't install an eight ball or a chrome skull, that's just poor taste. The dashboard itself is easy to maintain, it's brushed steel after all, I only have to dust it. I've ripped out the useless equipment that came with the police package and made some space for small weapons and ammo near the driver's seat. We're talking things like siren controls, on-board terminal, and so on and so forth; stuff I wasn't going to need anyway, working or not. Of course, I kept the radio and the speaker system.

I glance up into the rear-view mirror, and I'm met by my own polished shades, held in place only by my nasal bone and framed by flaked flesh and faded red muscle all around.

Well, that's to be expected from the pointman of the last SWAT team to use this APC.

Yes, I'm that old. I don't know whether I should call myself lucky or not.

That same glance also tells me I should tidy up the back of the van at the next stop. A shotgun's fallen over my bedroll, dragging my spare old uniform with it, along with the half-chewed brahmin steak I was supposed to eat tonight.

Huh. Now that's strange. I can't really talk about the uniform or the shotgun, but I'm pretty sure the meat had been wrapped in a newspaper before leaving Vegas. Unless...

"Rattles!" I snarl over the grumbling engine and jolting suspensions. Couldn't have been anyone else.

Soon enough, I find a rattlesnake's head pointed in my direction, a pair of mismatched eyes staring at me from the passenger's seat. Despite the fact my dinner is ruined, I can't help but sketch a smirk. There she is, trying to pass off as innocent, coyote ears perked up and front paws neatly folded near the handbrake. Her forked tongue lazily lolls out as she pants.

"I ain't fallin' for that, girl." I scold her. Her ears droop with a whimper as I jab a thumb in the direction of the steak. "This old cop can still put two and two together."

Rattles must think I'm allowing her to finish it, because she starts wagging her tail like it's a pair of maracas. That's where her name comes from - 'Rattles'.

Listen, I'm not the creative type. You try and come up with a good name for a nightstalker.

"Rattles, you coulda waited for yer grub." I tell her, but she keeps on wagging her tail. Ah, when a rattlesnake-coyote hybrid that is by all accounts biologically impossible looks at you with those eyes, you can't be mad at her. I scratch the scaly hide behind her ears and sigh to myself. "Dammit, a'ight, you can have it. But if this happens again..."

In the way of a reply, Rattles shakes my hand off and barks as she trots over to the piece of meat, drags it back to her seat, and starts eating away at it like a dog. I'm not too sure how she does that, what with the snake head and teeth and all, but I've learned not to ask questions.

She's surprisingly quick to dispatch my food, and once that's dealt with, she stares out the armored windscreen and whines.

"Yeah, I know, last time I took a job this fishy, I ended up with two bullets in my head." I answer in full agreement. Goddamn Platinum Chip, and goddamn Benny. It had been a while ago, but you don't forget something like that so easily. I, of all people, sure as fuck could not forget so easily. Had to make sure he was repaid in full – and this time, he isn't gonna hunt me down again. Being buried in a big vase in your own casino with your own handgun jammed down your throat tends to take care of that. "I'm confident about this one. It's four bone pendants. They're harmless."

Rattles huffs out and turns to the dashboard. She mistrustfully eyes four small brown packages in the open glovebox, and growls.

"Oh, come on, how can necklaces smell funny to you?" I groan in retort. "Besides, we're talkin' ten thousand caps here. You've gotta be crazy not to accept that." I dismiss her by pushing the glovebox closed, which is harder than it seems when it's packed full of old tapes and OSDs. "You know what? Forget it. You're a nightstalker, Rattles. You don't understand business."

Rattles sits up and makes a halfhearted attempt at howling me out of this.

"Relax, girl, the deal can't go wrong." I snicker, and pat her on her rough, wide forehead. "I go into this Vault that I've never heard of, give this 'diversified team of professionals' their pendants, and we're on our way. That's it. Just followin' my instructions."

Rattles glowers at me for a couple of seconds, but other than that, she doesn't pursue the argument. She yawns, rests her head on her paws, and appears to be content to silently judge me for the rest of the trip.

I suppose I can live with that until we reach this Vault 24, at about... half past three, give or take.


	2. Misfits

**\- JACK OF SPADES -**

The sky above Markarth was cold as an ice shiv, with snow-white clouds sparsely dotting the expanse of blue. Chilling winds blew in from the East, clashing against the everlasting Druadach Mountains from which the city itself had been fashioned.

After thousands of years it still stood. Not a single tile placed by its Dwarven makers had fallen. High towers with their glittering roofs of bronze stood vigil over the vast halls of stone and the fires of the forges, the gleaming river splitting the labyrinthine fortress-city in two. Truly a magnificent sight, if one contented himself with the appearance.

I couldn't help but grimace once I passed the gates.

The Jewel of the Reach... I had no idea why anyone would call it that way. Out of all the hold capitals in Skyrim, this had to be the most odious. It had all the air of conspiracy of Riften, the atmosphere of crippling antiquity of Windhelm, and the secluded position of Winterhold. Plus, the noxious fumes coming from the smelters and the open sewer that the Karth river had become granted it a particular fetor fouler than Morthal's swamps.

I had expected there to be more people around, but the streets were empty. As always. I couldn't help but think of it as a grand ruin, where few mortals dared to tread in the shadow of the civilization before them. The only ones who could appreciate this cursed place were those born in it.

The history of the region, the mountains, the valleys, the buildings, the backstreets... it all reeked of massacre.

Centuries of uprisings, insurrections, rituals throughout the Reach had cemented my opinion of Markarth as deeply unpleasant grounds. The recent murders and Forsworn attacks were the most noticeable, a pungent aroma of iron and hate. The crimes of Ulfric Stormcloak and his barbarians still lingered in the air after more than thirty years, faint yet persistent, a putrid black stain oozing onto the bloody history of this place. The stone remembered something else, some older evil all but forgotten by now... certainly the Dwarves' heritage.

In short, not the best of impressions for a wanderer such as me.

That was unimportant, however. I hadn't ridden from Whiterun for two whole weeks just to think of how much this city nauseated me. I was here for a contract, and I'd be damned if I didn't show up, face whatever task I was required to complete, and collect the reward. You don't turn the other way when a messenger delivers you a bag containing one thousand Septims and a letter promising ten thousand more for a contract in Markarth due to expire in exactly two weeks.

Of course, I ran out of money after paying whatever bloody tax was required of strangers to wander the Reach during 'such dangerous times', so I couldn't go back in any case. And even if I could, we were talking ten thousand gold coins there. I was going to get my money, unpleasantness or no, or my name wasn't Felix Ahenobarbus Severus.

Now that I was inside, I would do well to avoid getting lost in that maze of stairs and alleyways. I took the folded-up missive from a pouch on my belt, opened it, and made sure I'd read the name of the tavern correctly.

Yes, I had been contacted for my skills, today was the last day, handsome reward... there. It was a place called the 'Hairy Dwarf Inn', deep within the Dryside, period. That was as much information as my anonymous contractor had deemed necessary.

I was going to get irremediably lost after ten minutes. Considering how I couldn't see a living soul around other than the occasional guard, and being aware of just how standoffish they could be, I decided to find my own way rather than ask for directions.

Navigating the surface wasn't hard. Not excessively, at any rate. Had this 'Hairy Dwarf Inn' been somewhere that received a modicum of sunlight and fresh air, I would have found it in the blink of an eye.

Seeing how the letter specified I had to look for it in the deep part of the Dryside, however, my chances of reaching it were rather low – as was my willingness to venture into the underground.

I'd heard the stories: groups of alleged Forsworn supporters chained together and left into the ruins of Nchuand-Zel for the beings of down below to prey upon; explorers and scholars murdered where no one would hear their screams, their deaths masked as accidents; the bottom of the ravine splitting the ruins in two used as a massive, open grave to dispose of anyone undesired or forgettable.

I shivered at the thought. While the well-maintained 'upside' was exposed to Magnus' cleansing rays, the depths weren't.

I had no intention of finding out what lurked down there.

It wasn't long before I abandoned the stolen architecture of upper Markarth, the one everybody in Skyrim is well-acquainted with, and headed for one of the five massive doorframes sculpted from the mountain itself. It represented the entrance to one of the buried boulevards to the heart of the true city, where only flickering torches shone their feeble light and garbage of all kinds littered the streets.

I caught a whiff of the rot down there and wrapped my cloak around the lower half of my face. I'd rather not venture there, yet I had to if I wanted to gather enough money to get back to Skingrad. Better this than being stuck here until the Jarl saw fit to find me a job or kicked me back to Whiterun... or threw me into Cidhna Mine on some preposterous charges of sedition and rebellion, a rather common excuse to find free workforce around these parts.

So it was with a heavy heart, and much hope that I'd get paid, that I began my descent.

Here the city lost all the polish it held only thirty feet back. Commoners and peasants had no regard for the treasured history and craftsmanship of a civilization long gone, thus soiling and ruining their Dwarven homes without even thinking. Why would they care, when their very survival was uncertain? The ceiling of the cavern – because this wasn't a tunnel, it was merely a rough-hewn cave – was low, ranging from twelve to twenty feet in height. Proper rooftops didn't exist, seeing how they coincided with the top of the cave.

Even in the midst of all this squalor, there were obvious gaps in wealth: those fortunate enough to live behind walls of solid rock, and those who had nothing more than an old hairless pelt and their own hide to keep them warm. It wasn't unusual to see tents and run-down carts fill the squares alongside the old buildings, filled to the brim with the members of the latter category.

Needless to say, the smell of humanity, decay and suffering stabbed at my nostrils with a viciousness I'd only believed possible in Black Marsh. There, however, the Argonians accepted such horrible conditions and misery because... it was their way of life. Any attempts at building improvements or infrastructures was swallowed by either the swamps or the weather.

These Nords and Bretons? I doubted the scenery had changed that much over millennia. They must have been a pinch more bitter about it.

* * *

I wasn't too sure how long it had been since I had entered the underground section of Markarth, the 'Old Town'.

In fact, a concept such as 'time' lost all meaning down there. The quarter I was currently traipsing through seemed to be a bit more lively, given the presence of actual human beings. However, the dark-dwellers weren't the sort of people I'd keep at less than fifty feet from me – both because I didn't trust them one bit, and because they could have been carrying a vast assortment of diseases known in Tamriel, Pyandonea and perhaps even Akavir.

Quite unsurprisingly, heads were turning and staring at me wherever I went: an Imperial outsider dressed in fancy glass armor, his visage covered, coming down there to do Divines knew what? I must have been the talk of the slums. I had every eye both in the fires' sputtering light and in the deepest shadows fixed right on me.

The only thing sparing me from a robbery was the fact they understood there was something wrong with me. I wouldn't go so far as to say they perceived my... peculiar set of skills, no, yet I admit I have never looked like the open and friendly kind, so it was easy to mistake me for some kind of assassin or necromancer.

As always, it suits me just fine.

On the contrary, some of the very presences they couldn't feel thought I was something worthy of getting close to. Wonderful. Couldn't those bloody Stormcloaks have used the mountains North of here as their slaughtering grounds? Or, better yet, couldn't they have settled things peacefully?

I picked up the pace when I began to hear whispers and scuttling. As long as I gave them no attention whatsoever, they were going to lose interest and leave me be.

Probably.

By the time I had reached the edge of the Old Town, where the final ring of torches blazed with their hellish red glow, I asked myself just how true that last statement rang.

The assembly of dark, hollow husks beyond the fires were collectively known as the Ghost Town. The Dwarven city itself didn't end there, of course – I suspected the cave system went on for miles – yet not even the most wretched of Markarth's citizens dared to settle past that point.

They acted out of superstition, but I could perfectly understand their fear.

The shadows grew restless at the sight of me. The darkness seemed to stare back into my soul.

The instant I felt the temperature drop, I faced about and marched back the way I had come. No, they would have to mind their own cursed business, as they had been for decades or centuries or millennia. There could be no tavern that way, that much was certain. I was going back, and to Oblivion with them.

Once I had put enough distance between me and that... abyss, I found some stairs leading to a walled-off door and dropped onto the largest step. Trying not to go back to that horror, I finally paid attention to how much my feet hurt. By Talos, moonstone and malachite boots might have been classy and resilient, but they weren't practical in the slightest.

I was in the dark and there was nobody in sight, so I couldn't remove them and see whether one of my toes had fallen off, but-

"Ya got lost, sunlighter?"

I caught a glimpse of two little blades in the torchlight, barely kitchen knives, brandished by two ragged boys in ragged tunics. One was almost as tall as me, the other immensely shorter. The older one couldn't have been over fifteen.

I was in no real danger, but I was still being 'robbed' by two young thugs.

That irked me, if I'm being completely honest.

I mustered all the calm I could given the sudden interruption, hauled myself to my aching feet, and raised a brow. It stood to reason they hadn't the faintest idea what my armor was made of, just that it was shiny, which meant money. Wouldn't have been far from truth a few years back, but now... well, in any case, they had just made a big mistake.

I casually drew my blade, a beauty of Skyforge Steel inlaid with silver Nordic runes, and met their gazes. They were starving, and scared, and their eyes were larger than a normal human's. They had never left this place, perhaps the generations before them had never left this place.

When they noticed I wasn't the defenseless or cowardly quarry they were expecting, they took a step back. They couldn't possibly have known I was never going to lay a finger on them, let alone kill them. The very idea froze my guts with dread. Ah, well, better get on with the part already. "Yes, I did indeed get lost. Say, would you care to show me the way?"

By now, anyone in their place would have realized the foolishness of their own plan and bolted.

These two didn't. Desperation truly enables man to do great things.

The one on the right, the younger of the two at no more than ten years of age, puffed his chest and squeaked out a war cry with as much bravado as a full-grown Orc. "Ya give we all ya's money, an' we show you tha way to Sovngarde!"

"Ah, yes, very witty." I sighed out loud, resisting the urge to laugh in his face and ruffle his hair. Gods, he couldn't even issue a threat, but he was cute, in a way all children were.

Too bad I'm not exactly fond of children.

Still, I would rather spare them a life of petty crime and sin, even if it meant having them shit themselves. Plus, that would teach them not to inconvenience me a second time. A win-win situation.

So I hummed to myself and shrugged a shoulder. "It could do with a bit of work, though: Imperials don't go to Sovngarde. Also, not giving your victim a way out does not bode well for cooperation, especially when you are in no position to bargain." I dismissed their gazes with a flick of my free wrist, pulling the cloak from my mouth and nose, and punctuated the gesture with a cold smile.

Meridia knows my smiles look like an undead's attempt to blend in with society, especially when the air of threat was beginning to draw the worst kind of attention possible.

This one did the job of scaring my young robbers just fine. "Now here is what you are going to do: you will put away those knives, say you were sorry you ever bothered me, and then take me to the Hairy Dwarf Inn. If you do not, I will hamstring you, cut your beating heart out, and devour it before your dying eyes." I extended my left hand, and sent the tiniest wisp of will down to my fingertips. An eldritch blue flame danced on my open palm, casting a ghostly light on my features. I licked my teeth for good measure. "And if you run, I will be sure to cut you down with magic, and then it will all be so much slower."

They were both rooted in place, petrified by the menacing and frightening figure that I presented. Good, it appeared my words had the intended effect of making them compliant. The shadows had also grown fascinated with my simulated intentions, and that never meant anything good.

Divines, no matter how I told myself it was both for their own good and for the good of my pockets, I had just promised two kids I would have eaten their heart if they didn't do as I said. What kind of monster said that, aside from a cliched hagraven? I refused to think of the consequences doing such a thing might have down here.

Neither of them uttered a word of protest. They mewled their apologies and all but fell to their knees.

I waved them off and grunted out an affirmative. The sooner we got this over with, the better.

At that point the younger one made signal for me to come with them, and I did, all in utmost silence; they out of fear, I out of a pang of guilt. I hadn't counted on making the little one cry.

They led me through the brightly-lit boulevards and through the seediest of hallways, alternating between the light and darkness with ease. The doubt that they might have been dragging me someplace their bigger friends might fight me did cross my mind, yet I dismissed it. They didn't appear to possess the brains nor the balls to formulate a plan to thwart the requests of a very strange, very dangerous, and very serious man.

So I followed them.

* * *

I wasn't sure how long it took the two (I guess they were brothers) to come to a halt. The elder one pointed his grubby fingers towards a building with no windows, virtually indistinguishable from the hundreds of others in Old Town save for a simple sign. It portrayed a squat, naked man with a pointy hat, veritable bushes growing under his nose, armpits and crotch. Crude and vulgar like little else on this world, but I suppose that was as good a way as any to portray a 'hairy dwarf'.

I saluted the terrified boys with a twinge of regret for just how much I had disturbed them and made my way to the front door. Comforted by the distinct sound of a poorly played flute, I pushed the bronze slab open with all my might.

Needless to say, it got stuck on a displaced tile, forcing me to turn on my side and squeeze myself inside.

Once I had scratched my chestplate and ripped part of my cloak trying to get through, I raised my head and found myself squinting at what had to be the smallest hole I'd ever set foot in – both because of the low light, and because of the overpowering stench of cheap alcohol and dried vomit making me tear up.

Three meager oil lamps hung from the low ceiling, barely as bright as candles. There were only three stone tables set at three corners, all of them of Dwarven origin like the granite benches around them, separated by a narrow aisle between them. At the farthest corner, down to the right, I spotted the counter; a generous word to describe three wooden crates with a safe box on top. Attending it was a decrepit old lady in blue rags that might have once been a dress, playing a flute and displaying about as much skill as a dead cat.

The moment her eyes found me she beamed, carried on blowing out notes that chafed my eardrums, and beckoned for me to get closer.

She wasn't alone in there. The two tables near the entrance were occupied by lone figures, both as out of place deep under Markarth as I was. The one on my left was hard to identify, wrapped as he was in pitch-black, gold-trimmed robes. He cocked his cowl to one side and regarded me in silence, gloved fingers interlaced before him, his back set against the wall.

The other, to my right, was an Orc. He was built like a troll and not much more handsome, with a pig's nose, sharp tusks, and more scars than I cared to count. Part of them were concealed by a grizzly beard, others by long graying hair pulled into a topknot. He was clad neck to toe in the orichalcum plate his race was famous for, all jagged edges and sharp spikes, while the hilt of a massive axe poked out from his shoulder. One hand holding a tankard of ill-smelling ale, the other's knuckles rapping on his discarded helmet, he raised a brow at me from beyond the table and said nothing.

I tried to ignore their silent gazes, closed the door with some difficulty, and made my way over to the old lady. Her white hair was crusted with grime and sweat, as was her clothing. Her wrinkled form reminded me of an embalmed draugr, all yellowish loose skin pulled over an ancient skeleton. Considering she also smelled like one, she must have actively been avoiding a bath for the last year or so.

The moment I was in front of her, she finally stopped torturing my ears with that flute and gave me a toothless, all-gums smile. "'Welcome choo 'da Hairy Dwaff Inn! Wha' can I do fer ya?"

I wiped the spittle from my face and withheld a grimace. I had met more annoying aunts than her, the kind that still pinched my cheeks at the age of twenty-six. This innkeeper was merely cheerful. I would have felt bad for upsetting her, so I kept to business and spread out my letter on the counter's top crate. "I'm here for a contract, the message states I was supposed to be here by the end of this day. The payment should be ten thousand." I frowned skeptically. This woman didn't look like she could pay me ten corks, much less ten thousand Septims, but she was the best chance I had. "I take it you know more about it?"

"Oh, shore, shore!" She assured me with an endless series of nods. I stepped back, just in case she decided to pronounce something particularly difficult and spat in my eye again. "'Ave a shea', jush' one of ya'sh misshin', I can tell ya moar when 'dey come!"

I had no idea what she had precisely told me, but I gathered there was another person that had yet to reach this place before she would give me any more details. And if the missing person was 'one of us', this meant there was someone else here for the job already.

It wasn't hard guessing who. I glanced over my shoulder, at the bundle of darkness at one table and at the silent Orc at the other, and jabbed a thumb towards those two. "Are they here for the same reason? Is the contractor assembling a party?"

"Yesh, yesh!" The old hag confirmed, grinning for some reason unknown to me. She had probably gone senile a long time ago. "Now, shea' down an' weigh', I'll getcha shomefin' tae drink."

"No need for that." I quickly replied, dreading the thought of this woman within ten feet of anything I was going to drink. Besides, the aroma of those three barrels behind her wasn't particularly inviting. I cracked an apologetic smile and gestured for the only vacant table. "I shall wait, then."

She gave me a shrug that might have meant 'your loss' and went back to masturbating her flute.

I let out a long sigh as I sat down, rested my back against the wall, and held my head in my hands. Divines, this day was just getting better and better, wasn't it? I'd thought this would be a one-man contract as always, and now I found out that three more had been hired and I was part of a team.

Gods-dammit. I've never been good at working with others, be it splitting money, making decisions, fighting enemies, whatever. When it comes to myself, I know my strengths and my limits, and adapt to the task at hand accordingly. If the situation requires additional help, then I choose someone I know well to accompany me. My uncle Lucius or his bodyguard Brynhild, ideally. No chance of that happening now. I hadn't heard from them ever since they had left for Solstheim last month.

Complete and perfect strangers, though? Was it a good idea to trust my life in the hands of three people I had never seen before? Would I have to look out for them, in case they did something unbelievably stupid that threatened to get them killed? What was the point of throwing me into the unknown alongside three others that I was probably never going to see again? We had done nothing together. We hadn't trained, we hadn't sparred, we hadn't fought, we hadn't talked, we hadn't even met up until this day. The only thing we had done was staring at each other like beasts sizing up their rivals and dismissing them as nothing more than dyspeptic pups.

These two didn't seem like the talkative type, nor did they appear to care for my presence that much – and I reciprocated wholeheartedly. The black-clad one minded his own business in his little corner, and the Orc occasionally took a sip from his tankard of ale as though it were a cup of juniper tea.

I closed my eyes and decided to let the tuneless, atrocious notes distract me. This quest hadn't started yet, I would tackle the problem once I was facing it. For the moment, I was fine with keeping to myself, so long as the relative quiet remained and I didn't have to wait too much for this fourth mercenary...

* * *

The flute abruptly stopped playing, only to be replaced by the hag's undecipherable ramblings. That didn't surprise me, she hadn't looked exceptionally sane to begin with.

What puzzled me was the feminine voice replying.

I couldn't help but furrow my brow at that. I should have heard the door, or the footsteps, anything. The counter was directly across from my seat, how had I let someone slip by unnoticed?

I opened an eye, and then the other one opened with it, along with my mouth.

Where in Oblivion had that Khajiit come from?

I tried to mask my expression as best as I could, though I apparently wasn't the only one to be taken aback. The Orc was rather puzzled about this stranger who had gotten past him without him noticing, and even the hooded one had all but jumped to his feet. I understood them - why, I shared their sentiment. That was unexpected. I didn't think a Khajiit would be allowed past the gates of Markarth, let alone get into a tavern this deep under the city itself.

I couldn't see much of her, since she only presented me with her back. It was safe to assume this was a female, if only because of her voice – or her hips. She was short, perhaps less than five feet tall, and rather slim of build. Her fuzzy, brown-and-tan striped tail flicked to the left and right like a nervous cat's. She was clad in tight dark leathers, a crossbow slung over a baldric on her back, a few satchels and a pair of daggers hanging from her belt. She didn't appear to wear boots, however. In fact, she didn't have proper feet to begin with, they were... very large paws. I imagine shoes are not an option with those.

"A'ight, now ya'sh all reddy tae begin!" The old woman shouted, broadly gesturing for the rest of us to join her.

I hauled myself up to my feet and refrained from rubbing at my aching backside with two ladies present. Stone benches and glass greaves were a terrible combination.

I reached the Khajiit's side in three strides, placing myself in a spot close enough to the crates to examine her, but far enough to avoid getting an eyeful of spittle from the innkeeper.

The first thing that came to mind when I saw her face was a lynx. Her bright, reflective amber eyes idly went over the other two patrons behind her, and then they settled on me. Her coat was a uniform mix of browns and yellows one might see in the badlands of Anequina, her big ears tipped by tufts of black hair. Curiously enough, she didn't sport a lynx's typical 'beard'. Had she trimmed the fur on her jaw to avoid being mistaken for a male?

I despise myself for thinking it, but she looked incredibly soft and I wanted to poke her fluffy tail. That, and the temptation to scratch her behind the ears was stronger than I would like to admit. I didn't dare pet her, of course, lest she bit my hand off and gouged my eyes out. Most Khajiit above the age of five are touchy that way. Hard to blame them.

"Well, looksh like ya'sh all here, sho here ya go." The hag reflected, beaming, catching the feline's attention as well as mine. While we all waited for her to go on, she pulled a key from the folds of her rags, jammed it into her safe box, and twisted a couple of times. The four of us leaned forward a little bit, trying to peek inside and...

... She slapped a sealed letter onto the top of the counter. The Khajiit winced at the noise, the Orc grunted, and I did nothing to smother a disappointed groan.

That was it? We weren't even being told what we were going to do? Only another anonymous missive with yet more instructions?

"I can't believe it!" The Khajiit ranted in her high-pitched voice, tinted with an exotic Elsweyr accent. She snatched the envelope from the woman and examined it between her long fingers. Once she concluded the outside was blank, she raised her forefinger, flashed a stubby claw, and cut the top open. "This better be good..."

"Hand the letter over, cat!"

The shout was loud and high enough to nearly stun me, but I masked it all with a cough and turned to meet the hooded one.

Shocked as I was to hear words coming from under that cowl, that was nothing compared to the notion it had been a woman hiding in there.

Hair as fiery as the Red Mountain's lava, eyes as cold as the Sea of Ghosts' waves, features as sharp as an Elven blade... an Altmer, for sure. She was as aloof, attractive and close to perfection as the rest of her kind. She appeared to be young, yet one can never be too sure around Elves. Might have been a century or two older than she seemed. She had no weapon on her, so either she could punch through stone, or she was a quite powerful mage, the sort who didn't need anything other than her own Magicka to slaughter a small army.

Could have been my impression, but she was remarkably pissed off. No other reason for her to show her satin white teeth, storm up to the lynx, and tear the missive from her hands. She even made a show of wiping it on her sleeve, as if it had been touched by a leper.

The Khajiit blinked a couple of times before she donned a matching snarl. "What did you just call me?"

"Do not presume to use that tone with me, stray, I am merely calling things as I see them." The Altmer harrumphed with about as much humbleness as a queen, delicately plucking the letter from the envelope and unfolding it. "Besides, there is no point in having you hold onto my orders and sully them. I doubt you can even read. Same goes for the ape and the boar."

I rolled my eyes at the bait, pinching the bridge of my nose and resisting the urge to answer with an equally eloquent 'knife-ears'. Gah, now I had to watch my back from a thin-skinned cat and an Elf with an ego the size of the Summerset Isles.

This was exactly the reason why I did my damnedest to work alone. Whenever a team was assembled, bickering was bound to ensue. I had expected them to keep calm until the part where we received our pay, but these two had wasted no time. Wondrous, truly wondrous. If murder was in the air within two minutes of them meeting, I could not wait to see what they would do later on.

The Khajiit took a single step forward, fangs bared in a hiss, ears bent back and fur bristling as she went for her dagger with her right hand.

All right, now things were escalating too much for my liking, I had to stop them from killing each other. If the job were to go awry, not only would I have to witness at least one violent murder from up close, but I wouldn't be paid a single coin to boot.

The Orc was quicker about it. Blowing a snort as loud as a bull's, he placed a huge hand on the Khajiit's forehead, nabbed the paper from the unsuspecting Altmer with the other, and scowled them both down.

Seeing how giving it to either of them meant another fight, he thrust it in my face. Good thinking, commendable even, but I would've preferred not to be involved in this embarrassing quarrel.

"This is unbelievable..." I heard the Elf sniffle as I turned the letter in my hands. Her robes rustled when she folded her arms across her chest. "How dare you step out of your boundaries, brute? And why give it to him?"

"I'll take a wild guess, and say I'm the only adult in here who isn't acting like a bloody child." I retorted, shooting a glower in her direction and receiving a more menacing one in return. I didn't pay it much mind, used as I was to Brynhild's. I also glowered at the Khajiit for good measure, but it didn't seem to have any effect. She was too busy glaring daggers at her new friend. "So, now that this pathetic scene is over, let's see what our contractor wants us to do, what do you say?"

Both of them mumbled something in their respective languages, insults most likely, but they didn't protest any further. The Orc stared at me with those storm gray eyes of his and motioned for me to start. Oh, so we did have someone sane here. Stunning, when you consider he was two heads taller than me and twice my weight in muscles, armor, and murderous intent made flesh.

"'My dear band of misfits...'" I began to read. I couldn't help but frown at the appellation first, and at the quality of the letter second. All right, 'misfits' was a fitting term, but it was just uncalled for. Ignoring that, the paper was... too white and thin. Unusual. Besides, the ink wasn't black, it seemed more like a dark shade of blue than anything.

I shrugged. None of my business, long as I got paid. "'Let's keep this brief, shall we? I want you to recover a little something for me. Look for crystals deep inside the ruins of Nchuand-Zel, at the top of the high tower where the chasm splits the ancient city in two. You'll know it when you see it. You'll figure it out from there. A big hug, your employer.'"

"And?" The Khajiit spurred me as I lowered the contract, tawny eyes alight with expectation. "There's got to be more. Maybe you skipped something."

"No, I... didn't skip anything, read it for yourself." I handed her our dispatch and, while she all but sniffed a possible answer out of it, I ran a hand through my hair. All right, we had instructions to reach a high tower near a chasm and look for crystals. Those were normal as far as instructions went, if infuriatingly vague. Things like 'You'll know it when you see it' and 'You'll figure it out from there', though? Those meant nothing. "Wouldn't have hurt the bastard to be a bit more specific."

"On that we can all agree." The Altmer spat out, like she had to scrape the words off of her tongue. What a charming little princess we had been graced with. "Despite the inconvenience, I know where we are headed. The Dwarves have built only one tower of considerable height that stands watch over the chasm of Nchuand-Zel. I shall lead the way." A disgusted sneer touched her lips. "I would not want you to get us lost and trap us under Markarth for the rest of eternity."

Once she had made clear we were but worms before her, the Elf faced about and marched outside of the tavern. The Orc fell in behind her with sagging shoulders, donning his helmet and letting out a deep sigh, hand twitching towards the handle of an axe as long as I was tall.

While they did that, I left the innkeeper three gold coins for the trouble, which roughly amounted to a fifth of the money I had on me. It was an idiotic thing to do, I should have kept those Septims, but it felt right to pay this poor madwoman something for the trouble. I had no idea what she said to thank me, so I limited myself to answer a tense smile and a couple of nods.

With that, I flattened myself through the entrance and set out, ruining my chestplate a bit more and finally managing to rip my cloak off entirely. Great. It wasn't like I had paid it a fortune, but still... hmph, to Oblivion with it and the Redguard who sold it to me. I didn't need a cloak anyway, it only got in the way half of the time.

In case one of us lost sight of her, the Altmer had cast an orb of white candlelight over her head, acting like a beacon to guide us towards her shining grace and the light of her intelligence, I imagined. Come to think of it, that thing's aura would discourage anything nasty from trying to gnaw away at the corners of my mind, especially that far into the Dwarven city. Hmm, I supposed there was also a positive side to someone so spiteful.

"I don't like this."

I pretended the Khajiit didn't startle me as much as she actually did with her remark. Out there, in the shadows, she was nearly invisible. The only sign of her presence the reflection of the spell in her eyes. I swallowed down a 'me neither' and went for a more level reply. "With what we're being paid, there is no liking or disliking the task. Recovering an artifact should be a trivial matter, explorers from Markarth have disabled quite a few Dwarven animunculi in recent times, and-"

"Not talking about the job." She muttered bitterly. I saw her point a claw towards the Altmer's ball of light, some fifteen feet ahead. "It's about that bitch leading us."

Ah, that. Well, there was no arguing about that. The Elf had already insulted us all at least two times. I had never met someone someone so instantly unlikeable who wasn't a Thalmor officer. She bore a striking resemblance to the bastards, from the clothing to the attitude to the bloody pike-up-the-arse marching step. "Not much we can do about it. She knows what she's doing, she's already been in the ruins, and she's probably a strong enough mage to justify fear, if not respect."

"She calls me a 'cat' one more time, I'm gonna stab her." The Khajiit grumbled crossly, as though that rendered all the other points moot. I waited for her to continue ranting about the Elf, but it seemed that was as much as she would say to me.

"Daro'sheeva."

Or not.

I blinked, confused, and made an effort to remember what little I knew about her language. "What did you say about my mother?"

"That's my name." She chuckled. I was glad to hear she wasn't there to just scowl and rant. "You got one, Imperial?"

"Felix Ahenobarbus Severus." I announced slowly. I may have gone for 'Felix' only, but she had given me what sounded like her full name, it was only just to give her mine.

She didn't speak for a few seconds, time in which I felt her stare boring a hole through my right temple. I paid no attention to the fact she was clearly holding back laughter. "Look, I get the Severus part... but you don't look so happy to me." She chortled. "Besides, you're shaved. And blonde."

I drew in a deep, calming breath. That was only an observation made by a Khajiit, whose race was known for having a different conception of names. She hadn't poked fun at me just for the sake of annoying me, right?

Bah, who was I kidding, that was exactly it. Worse yet, I had the sinking feeling she was trying to start joking while we ventured deep into the unknown and risked our lives for something that may or may not have been there, that very same something whose appearance was unknown to us. And she had the gall to jest and... was she pouting and frowning at me? No, wait, was she mimicking me? My face didn't look like that, I...

Gods-dammit, I should have taken place next to the Orc, at least he was mute.

* * *

I am unsure how long it took us to reach Nchuand-Zel.

We trudged for a subjective eternity through rocky tunnels, some Dwarven, others human, others yet natural, and a few more... we preferred to think they too were natural and hadn't been burrowed by some monstrous ancestral creature, despite traces and patterns suggesting otherwise. These last ones had been enough to make Daro'sheeva go quiet, which I would have appreciated more if she hadn't moved in so bloody close to me.

As we pressed on, a gentle breeze began to blow against us, signal we were heading in the right direction and the Altmer hadn't been just showing off. We had to be close.

A number of minutes later, more than ten and less than forty, a feeble blue glow breached the darkness ahead of us. The irregular floor of the tunnel gave way to chiseled tiles, and more openings spread out from our path and into the unknown.

One final turn, and the city of Nchuand-Zel sprawled before our very eyes.

Well, maybe that wasn't the right way to put it. I had half-expected us to find ourselves on a ledge overlooking the entirety of the ruins, not to pop up at street level right in front of the gates.

It was a breathtaking sight nevertheless. The roof of the cave was so high up that its own shadows hid it from sight. The only visible spots were lit up by gems of a thousand different colors, beautiful as the night sky on a clear summer eve. Down on the ground, walls of hard stone reinforced with Dwarven metal stood over fifty feet in height, from one side of the cavern to the other. Watchtowers dotted their entire length, the defense mechanisms long since disabled or destroyed. Beyond them buildings, spires and towers rose all throughout the city, preserved from the corrosion of the elements and the years by the miracles of Dwarven engineering. Crystals cyan, aquamarine and cobalt shone from niches and windows, their pale shimmer casting a magic, almost arcane aura all over the city.

Once the initial wonder had faded away, a sense of queasiness started to weigh down on my sternum. People had died here, all throughout the Eras. Innocent and guilty alike had found their demise in this immense cavern, from the Nord and Breton explorers of Markarth all the way back to the age of the Dwemer and Falmer. Not as bad as the surface, yet the feeling here was more firmly rooted than before. Constant, poignant, as if bitingly upheld and maintained throughout the centuries.

"Ha, this is it!" The Altmer proclaimed triumphantly, inches away from shaking her own hand and congratulating herself. She turned and spread her arms, jeering at us like a vulture. Now that we had illumination much stronger than the sporadic green mushroom, her ball of light proved to be nothing more than a useless glare. "This is the Dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel. Do not stray, for I will not waste my time looking for you."

Whereas the Orc and I merely frowned at the last comment, Daro'sheeva raised her hand, face unreadable, and clacked her tongue once. "What if I gotta pee? Can I go around a corner, or do I take my pants off in front of everyone and piss on your boots?"

The Elf went a vibrant shade of red and stormed away towards the open gates.

Daro'sheeva doubled over and laughed out loud, tears in her eyes. I may have joined in and let loose the chuckle I was holding, but it wasn't a good idea to antagonize our self-appointed leader any further. Things were already tense enough as they were, no need to worsen the situation and have them at each other's throats before I was paid.

The moment we stepped past the grand doors and into the streets, my unease grew into mild sickness. I didn't like it one bit, something wasn't right here. The Altmer had better be quick in finding this 'high tower over the chasm'. They were all the same to me, with their overhead pathways and illuminated overpasses and bronze pipes.

Might have paid more attention to the architecture if a thought weren't nagging at the back of my head.

Kynareth strike me dead, we weren't alone down here, I was sure of it. These avenues smelled of death.

Maybe it was my imagination playing tricks on me, but I was fairly sure I saw a shadow on one of the rooftops. I motioned for Daro'sheeva to stay close and picked up the pace until I was at the Orc's side. The Altmer was several feet away from us. Still in sight, yet far enough not to hear us.

The Orc remained silent and cast a questioning glance my way, his lips curled into a small grimace under his beard. I waited for him to speak first.

His only motion was a flick of his wrist, as if to say 'elaborate'.

Ah, so he was mute. This Orc really was an odd one.

"I have a bad feeling about this." I told him, expecting a scoff in return. I sounded foolish, even to myself. Perhaps it really was all in my head... bad feelings weren't hard evidence, they couldn't be trusted outright. "We'd better keep our eyes open, or-"

"Or what, the ghosts are gonna come and get us?" Daro'sheeva cooed over my shoulder, arms up and fingers wiggling. She made a 'ooh' sound as well, a behavior I would have expected from an eight year-old at best. I was surprised she hadn't thrown a white bedsheet over her face. "They'll snatch our souls and leave us here for all eternity, doomed to hear you moan 'I told you so' over and over again forever?"

The Orc gave her a meaningful scowl and left her to chuckle. Instead of dismissing me and my ramblings, though, he gave me a single nod and grabbed his axe. Its edge was irregular, serrated, made for deep and messy cuts, to spill rivers of blood for its wielder to bathe in – the berserker's way of fighting. Forged from orichalcum as the rest of his armor, that weapon had to be bigger than I was.

"Uh, wait, you actually believe him?" Daro'sheeva asked, this time in a hushed tone. I heard her swallow and unsling the crossbow from her back. "You mean... you mean this place isn't empty?" She tittered nervously. "It's... it's not ghosts though, right?"

The Orc rolled his eyes. First he knocked a fist onto his armor and hissed, then he quickly tapped his fingertips onto his gauntlet, and finally he extended his forefinger on the side of his helmet and closed his eyes.

"Oh, right, I get it now." Daro'sheeva nodded slowly. Her right ear twitched twice, her unease replaced by confusion. She spared me a glance and shook her head with a whisper. "I don't get it..."

"He means Dwarven machines, creatures of the underground, or... Falmer?" I ventured a guess.

I was rewarded with an approving grunt.

That might have made me feel better under other circumstances, but it only worsened my upset stomach. We could handle human-sized constructs or a single large one, same for creatures such as chaurus. Divines preserve us, if a Falmer hunting party or a whole clan were here...

I unsheathed my blade and held a white-knuckled grip on it. I wanted to be wrong. Any corner we turned, any building we passed, any step we took could lead us right into an ambush. We had to stay sharp, be vigilant. Every nook and cranny could house a multitude of enemies, waiting for our passage to spring from the shadows and attack us when we least expected them.

We would be ready for them.

* * *

Another half an hour passed, and nothing fell upon us to pick our bones clean or repel us unwanted invaders, or both.

The Orc was ready for anything, yet he gave me a sense of great calm, as though this were his field of expertise and nothing could come off as unexpected to him. He had decided to bring up the rear, in case anything nasty decided to come at us from behind. Daro'sheeva, instead, was the exact opposite: her ears darted around at any sound louder than our steps, her eyes tried to keep track of any shadow she either saw or imagined, her finger ready to squeeze the trigger at a moment's notice.

I simply gripped the hilt of my sword tight and gritted my teeth. The farther we headed into the city, the more I was brought to trust my gut. We were being watched.

The Altmer had observed us for a split second before dismissing us as demented over twenty minutes ago.

Now she twirled around with a broad and rather insulting grin. She pointed her index finger at a gray monolith to our right, higher than the others around it by a good hundred or so feet, a raised pathway snaking and spiraling along the entirety of its surface. What appeared to be crystals shone a faint azure near its very top. Beyond its base, the street's tiles rose to form a bridge, and no buildings stood for a gap of several dozen yards.

"That is the tower we came looking for." The Elf announced, as though none of us inferior races could have figured that out on our own. "I imagine none of you care about its history or how it was built, so stay close to me, step exactly where I do, and try not to fall to your deaths."

I bit back an acid comment. Was it her prerogative to address us as though she were speaking to pet monkeys from Valenwood? Hngh, the sooner we got whatever we were here for, the sooner we would be out of this place, the sooner I could never hear from this Elven manifestation of an ulcer ever again.

With the nameless Orc bringing up the rear and Daro'sheeva in front of me, we didn't seem to have much of a choice other than following the Altmer across the street. Seeing how we were about to climb a rather narrow walkway up the tower's side, I eased up a little. It was as wide as two men abreast, and bent upwards at a gentle angle. A single skilled warrior could block even a dozen foes there for as long as he liked.

If we didn't encounter anyone with half a brain and a bow that could circle around and pelt us with arrows, that was.

I couldn't let my guard down. Anything could happen down here. Machines, monsters, Falmer, we could be ambushed at any moment. How hard would it be for a bolt to lodge itself into my neck while I stood up there, without cover, without an escape route, without a simple shield, blocked between a Khajiit and an Orc?

The Altmer set foot upon the pathway and nothing happened. I remained in line behind Daro'sheeva, never taking my eyes off of the ruins as we climbed higher and higher on the spiral of stone. Rushing us now would be foolish, even a beast would realize that by now, so we would be safe from animals until we went back to ground level. Falmer marksmen would probably be able to track our scent and sounds, but the chance of being shot grew lower and lower with every yard we put between ourselves and the ground.

Animunculi could still attack our party, though. They possessed no mind or will, only the orders of their masters to guard their dwellings for the rest of eternity. They would hurl themselves at us until either we destroyed them all, or they eliminated us for good and could go back to patrolling the empty ruins for looters and animals.

Except none of that happened. We were undisturbed on our ascent to the top. The loudest noise I heard was the clanking of the Orc's armor, the only movement I saw was Daro'sheeva glancing over her shoulder and giving me what I interpreted as an expression of concern. I waved her away with my free hand, my sword firmly grasped in the other. Something was still wrong about this whole deal... it had to be.

Thinking about it, this was almost unreal. Not counting the two kids with dull knives and big eyes, I hadn't been attacked by anyone ever since I had entered the Reach. I could understand getting lucky outside, but down here, where no law or civilization existed and only demons of the underground and fallen Snow Elves ruled?

Since when had Skyrim become so safe?

My reasoning was interrupted by a victorious laugh. I sighed at the damn Elf's excitement, climbed my final steps over the angled stone surface and finally reached the highest point of the tower, finding myself at a perplexed Daro'sheeva's side. Had the Summerset cow finally found something useful?

I found her with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, right before a cluster of crystal sprouting from the exact center of the floor and beneath the tip of a cupola of gleaming Dwarven metal.

I had never seen anything quite like it. Not because of the razor-sharp edges, the reflective surfaces, or even the azure light, no.

This crystal was absolutely perfect, not a crack on it, not a flaw, not one shard of it set at an odd angle. Symmetrical, beautiful, every tip pyramidal and with a broad quadrangular base... this couldn't have possibly grown here. It had been planted. And even then, the Dwemer who had done this must have spent a great deal of time refining and smoothing its every facet.

"This is wonderful!" The Altmer giggled excitedly now, going from stern leader to thrilled young girl. For a second, I thought I saw her eyes sparkle. "No wonder we are required to extract it, this... this is invaluable! If forty thousand Septim are the price for perfection, then perfection comes at a bargain price indeed."

"We aren't here for the crystal." I all but croaked, my throat dry from all the walking and the dust. I blinked the afterimage away and narrowed my eyes. Our employer had never talked about recovering crystals, he'd merely mentioned looking for them. Besides, this cluster was massive, how in Oblivion were the four of us supposed to bring it back to Markarth? With her magic? Yeah, right. I couldn't imagine this one to be capable (or willing) of any effort whatsoever, be it magical or physical. "It's impossible to fulfill an order like this."

She didn't answer straight away. She pried her eyes from the prize and graced me with a scowl that, if backed by a sliver of Magicka, would have flensed the flesh from my bones. "What are you implying, human?"

"That you can't even read a letter, Elf." Daro'sheeva said as though she were speaking to a particularly thick child, pronouncing every syllable with great care. "It said we had to look for this, not rip it off and haul it back. Besides, look at the thing! It's huge!" She made a vague motion towards the cluster. "Where are we gonna put it? How are we gonna carry it?"

"Leave this problem to the one capable of solving it, you insolent stray cat!" The Altmer growled out. Her face had gone a shade of red darker than her hair. It could have been just me, but I was sure her clenched fists were smoking. "The orders clearly stated this is our objective – what other artifact are we to find here? Look around and tell me, cat!"

"Don't you call me a cat, you knife-eared bitch!" Daro'sheeva retorted, fangs bared, forefinger pointed straight at the Elf's heart. I caught a glimpse of ivory on the fingertip – her claw. "You call me a cat one more time, I'm gonna shove that thing so far up your ass your eyes start glowing!"

When the Altmer clenched her jaw so hard the veins on her temples stood out, I knew this entertaining little scene would be the death of us all. Any second now, she was going to raise her hand and cast a fire spell so powerful it would burn us all to puddles of molten slag and blackened bones. We had miraculously avoided an ambush at the hands of something dreadful, and now we were all to die because of two touchy women and their interpretation of a bloody letter. I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Then thunder rolled.

Thunder? No, without a sky... Gods, the rocks!

I instantly stared up at the cavern's ceiling, the Elf let her arm fall down her side, and the Khajiit all but dropped on all fours, eyes wide.

It simply turned out to be the Orc clearing his throat. He had gone around the heated argument and was crouched near the crystals, holding something between his baton-thick fingers. He stood up, his face dispensing disapproval and confusion in equal parts, and showed us what he had discovered.

A sculpture.

I had to squint to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. It... by Oblivion, it really was some sort of tiny sculpture. Only it wasn't made out of carved stone or polished gems. It had been cast from a lucid material, brightly colored and smooth. It appeared to be a tiny blonde figure clad in blue and yellow, disproportionate in the extreme, with arms and legs as thin as toothpicks and a large, smiling head bobbing to the left and right. One hand rested on its hip, while the other had been brought to the forehead to shield the black dots that were his eyes, as though this boy were looking for something.

The quarrel between Daro'sheeva and the Altmer forgotten, we all focused on this thing. This... this meant nothing. What in Oblivion were we to make of this?

The Elf put her unhinged jaw back in place and blinked at the Orc. "Are you serious?"

The Khajiit drew in closer and poked the statuette's head, making it oscillate back and forth. She scoffed at the movement. "This shit ain't Dwemer, that's for sure. Never seen anything like it though."

If possible, the Orc was the most perplexed out of all four. He fiddled uncertainly with the figure in his hand, turning it around and upside down, squinting at the strange silvery glyphs carved on the base. It seemed as though he refused to realize there was nothing special about it.

"This has got to be joke!" I blurted out, one hand stretched in outrage towards the stupid little toy. "Whatever that thing is, if that's the artifact we're supposed to take, I'm eating my own sword. A child's plaything can't be worth this much gold. This is a hoax."

A round of grudging nods accompanied my words. This was the prank of the Era, I was sure of it. A dangerous recovery expedition into the depths of Nchuand-Zel, and the only thing we found was a weird-looking statue of a blonde boy in some foreign blue-and-yellow garment. It was insane.

Why had I agreed to this whole bloody thing in the first place? Gods, it was so obvious we had all been tricked. We had bitten down on the bait like so many idiots, the thousand Septims must have been fake, polished brass coins. If I ever found the idiot who played this trick on us, by Talos, I would...

Wait, when had the crystal gone green?

The whole cluster had gone from a faint blue to a diseased green, and was now pulsing and flickering with a fierce, throbbing hum.

The floor was shaking beneath our feet, nearly throwing me off my balance as I tried to make sense of anything that was happening to us. No attacks, a stupid toy, a perfect crystal that changed colors, an earthquake...

My heart raced, partly because of the frustration, partly gripped by fear. It meant absolutely bloody nothing! This all had no sense, what in the name of the Nine was going on? Daedra? Magic? Dwarven technology?

I didn't know, I had no idea, I couldn't even think of anything that wasn't a nonexistent way to escape my immediate death. If this tower crumbled, I would die along with three other people I had never met in my entire life and had absolutely no love for, either crushed by mounds of debris or turned into an ugly red smudge on the street.

I'd be forgotten by everyone because of a gods-damn joke letter I had fallen for.

Just as it had started, it all stopped. I fell onto my back and hit my head on the floor. Everything became a blur. An indefinite, confusing mess of fearful whimpers, pained groans, loud buzzing, and that damned acid green covering everything... shit, my nape hurt as if Molag Bal himself had hit me.

One last shudder and a savage jerk, and I felt every fiber of my body stretching and shrinking, pulling and pushing, balling up and expanding.

It all burned and froze, moved and stood still, tasted good and bad, smelled wonderful and awful.

My stomach heaved and settled, my fingers clenched and relaxed, my muscles tensed and softened, my bones melted and became solid.

I saw and heard and experienced nothing and everything at the same time.

I tried to scream, to move, to do something to get myself out of this nightmare. Nothing worked.

Then everything went black.


	3. Elsewhere

**\- ACE OF HEARTS -**

I was lying on my left side. I couldn't think about anything else at the moment. My whole body hurt from head to talon. I couldn't concentrate on one ache that another one flared up, fiercer than before.

I groaned, or grunted, or mewled... I don't know. I wished someone would knock me out again.

Ah, shit, I couldn't just stay there and be miserable forever. I had to get my bearings. If I was still alive, then I had to be up on the tower with the magic crystal.

I hoped.

The floor beneath me was cold and hard, the air... warm? Yes, much warmer than it had been before I lost consciousness. Much dustier for sure. The silence was absolute, broken only by my shallow breathing.

Shouldn't the others be close? It was... quiet. Had they woken up earlier and left me to rot? Oh, the bastards had better not, or I'd be pissed.

Maybe they had carried me someplace safe? That sounded more pleasant. Not as likely, but more pleasant nonetheless.

I dared crack an eyelid open, half expecting the eyeball to roll out if I so much as squinted. It was dark, so much darker than before. That wasn't a huge problem, but it would've been better with a light source. My sight adjusted to the shadows within seconds, my pupils widened as far as they could, the outlines started to become sharper and...

I let out a strangled cry.

Wherever my eye went, I saw nothing but steel walls, a steel ceiling, a steel floor. No furniture, no door, no windows, no nothing.

Blood roared in my ears, my breaths came in quicker and more ragged.

This wasn't the tower in Nchuand-Zel, it looked nothing like it, this room couldn't even be Dwarven in the first place. There were no chiseled stone or brazen metal or glittering gems. No trace of the others, either.

I was alone.

Had the crystal cluster done that? No, that was impossible, it had only... changed colors and glowed and made me fall asleep.

Had I been captured? By whom? What race built rooms like this? Nobody on Tamriel did.

Akavir was out of the question because... it made things easier if I didn't think about Akavir.

Was it the Daedra? Gods, had the Daedra taken me? No, it couldn't be. The place was too simple and old, it must have been built by mortals of one kind or the other. I remembered my sister's stories, Daedric Princes weren't this utilitarian or full of dust in their Planes, they were all outlandish in one way or another.

Where in Oblivion was I, then?

What should I do? Should I pretend to be out cold so I would be left in peace? What if they dragged me away because they'd heard me a moment ago? Should I escape, even though I had no idea where I was? No, that wasn't a good plan, what if I ran into other guards? Should I take my time and look for a secret passage or... oh, Gods, what did I do? Dammit, dammit, dammit!

"Small steps, Daro'sheeva, can't take big steps and kiss the floor..." I thought out loud in a hoarse croak. Voicing ideas instead of letting them swirl into my mind had always worked. It did so even now, when my heart was all but bursting in my chest and the cramps made it hard to speak. "Simple stuff... get up, find the door, run like Oblivion." I chuckled. It was a strained sound. I didn't feel like laughing, I wanted to cry. I couldn't, not right now. I'd cry later. "Yeah, gotta get up first..."

It didn't calm me down one bit, though it did give me the strength to push myself into a sitting position. I swayed with dizziness and almost dropped back down, my vision blurred and a knot tied in my throat.

Where was I?

"Dunno... don't wanna find out the hard way, now stand up..." I retched with the effort. Nothing came out. I hadn't eaten since well before entering Markarth. I squeezed my eyes shut. My tail flicked like a whip. Where had everyone gone? Mara, I was so scared. "Stand up, gods-dammit..."

I was up and about after a few tries, wobbling on unsteady paws as if I were on a ship at sea. My stomach was empty, why was I still so nauseous? This was all ten times worse than my worst hangover, only I was sober, I was conscious and I wouldn't forget this for the rest of my life. Ugh, shit. If I thought too hard, I'd dry heave again. I had to distract myself, do something useful.

Inventory check?

Inventory check, yes.

I patted down my sides and legs, my belt, my back. My equipment was all there: leather armor, satchels, pouches, daggers, crossbow... yes, my crossbow. I grabbed it with shaking hands and gripped it tight. I raked the string back, fought to take hold of a bolt from the quiver on my thigh, and loaded it.

My mouth curled into faint smile. I was armed. Whoever had taken me here couldn't hurt me with a bolt in his throat, or his chest, or his foot, or... or wherever I hit him in this state.

I span around slowly, crossbow at the hip. No matter how cautious, that single movement all but drove me to my knees. Shit, my head was killing me. I wasn't going back down, I had to move. There was a hole in the wall behind me, a rectangle with round edges that had all the looks of an open door. It led into a corridor of sorts.

Hard to tell with no light, even a Khajiit like me couldn't see that well down here.

What kind of jailer left the door open and didn't take anything away from the prisoner? No, it was over if I started wondering now. There would be an answer to those questions later.

Left with nothing else to do, I tried to swallow the knot in my throat and go forward. Fear threatened to paralyze me, but survival instinct urged me forward. Nausea just mashed it all into a blurry paste of confusion and fear.

I lurched out, head swimming, eyes tearing up and guts quivering. Nothing to my left, only rubble and torn plates rising up to the ceiling. I gingerly followed the path to the right. The hallway was cramped, black, made entirely of steel. Metal tubes hung from the ceiling by thin wires. I had no idea what they did, I didn't want to know.

I tugged at the neck of my jacket and pressed on. It really was hot here. Reminded me of home. Gods, I wished I was home, where I...

No, don't think of home! I think of home and I freeze and start sniveling because then I think about aunt...

No, enough. Focus.

I exhaled, putting all my terrors and wishes into a little box that I shoved to the back of my mind. There were only I, the corridor, and my crossbow. None of my cramps or pains mattered, they only mattered when I almost tripped and I had to catch my footing again.

I put one paw in front of the other and started walking. If I followed this maze without a pause, chances were decent I'd eventually find an exit. More of those strange closed doors were set into the walls, leading Gods knew where, all with a small pad with colored little blinking lights at the side. Sometimes there were tags above, but I couldn't really be sure they were there, let alone read what might be written on them. I could only walk blind, like a newborn kitten.

So I walked blind and prayed to the Moons.

* * *

My plan failed the moment I nearly planted my face into a steel wall.

I stepped back and bit the inside of my cheek in frustration. The corridor split in two, and two ways meant two choices. I peeked to either side, but each was identical to the other: they both continued for a few dozen yards, and then took a sharp turn to the left or to the right. Dammit.

What had I been thinking a minute ago? This place was built like a maze for a reason. I couldn't just find the exit through sheer luck. Now I was utterly lost and I would starve or die of thirst or try to use my daggers to make it all end painlessly before I went mad and... and I began to hear...

Footsteps?

My ears pricked up and flicked left. Yes, they were far away and the echo was off, but they couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Heavier than mine for sure, yet not too much, which meant... couldn't be someone massive, nor could it be someone in heavy armor.

I couldn't have been gladder to be distracted from my grim outlook on things, but now problems went from theoretical to practical. This might be either a guard on patrol or some other lucky prisoner.

On one hand, if I ran and hid, I could avoid trouble and see who had kidnapped me, but I also wouldn't gather any crucial information and I'd be stuck here for longer than I wanted.

On the other, if I met this guy head on I may ambush him, gain the upper hand and start asking questions - or I might even find someone like me and make an ally.

Would it be worth it, though? Shouldn't I stick to playing it safe?

Oh, for the love of Baan Dar, how safe could I play it when I was in constant danger and I had no idea who, why, how or where they held me prisoner? I needed answers, and answers I would get.

I squared my jaw, drew in a deep breath, and set off down the hallway to my left. The footsteps closed in while I remained as silent as possible, counting on the element of surprise to overpower this son of a bitch and see what he had to say.

I reached the corner and pressed my back against the wall. I saw a pale light draw nearer – definitely not a torch, too bright, too white. Magic? Were my captors mages? Damn.

My tail whipped once before I reined it in. Things would be harder but not impossible, I just had to keep my cool. Trick to handling mages was getting them before they could cast anything. All right, he would be around the bend in three, two, one...

I sprang from my hiding place, let out a scream of challenge and lifted my crossbow to his head, no matter how hard the weapon swayed or how much I resembled a lost alley cat puffing up her tail.

"Merciful Stendarr!" He shouted, jumping back and readying his sword to strike. When he saw me, he lowered his blade and wiped a glove on his sweat-lined forehead. "Oh, thank the Divines, it's you..."

I had to aim higher than my eye level, because the target had over a head of advantage on me as usual. He was a human, a male with short flaxen hair, dead blue eyes, and skin as wan as a fresh corpse's. His face was long and gaunt, with a small nose, a thin mouth and high cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them. He wore an expression that was somewhere between iffy and grouchy, almost vacant. He was clad in light, fancy blue-and-golden Elven armor, silvery sword in his right hand and a light bobbing on the ceiling ahead of him.

Had I been a bit more desperate, I would have dropped my crossbow and hugged him so tight his eyes would've popped out from their sockets. Since I wasn't that far gone, however, I limited myself to spreading my arms in welcome and grinning in a way I hadn't been in the mood for a moment ago. "Felix!"

I wasn't too sure whether his tone and choice of words had implied annoyance or relief. I couldn't be brought to care either way, at least someone else had made it there. No pulling him in an embrace, the more I thought about the possible reaction, the less willing I was to carry it out. We'd known each other for little more than an hour or two.

Nevertheless, I felt my tail go up as though I'd met a long-lost friend. If he too was here, then that meant he had been taken as well. Maybe he'd fared better than me in his search for answers or, better yet, the exit, and-

"Do you have any idea where in Oblivion we are?" Felix asked me with a frown, managing to shatter half of my newfound hopes in less than four seconds.

He didn't know where we had ended up.

He was lost, just like me, and neither of us had any idea how to get out of here.

"This place is like nothing I've ever seen, I..." He suddenly glanced over this shoulder. When he addressed me again, he was a bit less composed. Almost scared. "I think we should get out of here."

"That's the problem, I dunno how." I told him. I was impressed with myself: that hadn't come off as jittery or terrified, only casual, which was good. I didn't want another person see me panic, or drag someone else into the howling box of chaos that I'd locked in the back of my mind.

Speaking of, was something wrong with him? I tried to peer past his shoulder and through the darkness of the corridor, but his light was messing with my eyes. Had he heard anything? That was odd, my ears were much more sensitive than his, I should've heard it first. "Wait, what did you-"

"Nothing, nothing, I just don't like being stuck underground." He shushed me before I could ask anything else. Did his voice crack just now? Better not press him, guy might've had it rougher than me on the way here. "There's nothing back there, only dead ends. Let us retrace your steps, shall we?"

"Uh... yeah, there's another hallway I haven't checked." I muttered, swallowing down the tension that came with his anxiety.

I faced about and clacked my tongue twice. If I added someone else's emotions to mine (which were already unstable on their own), then I was going to be mumbling Sheggorath's name real soon. That was... well, not the last thing I wanted, since the list went on for about two miles. Still, it ranked pretty low on that list.

All right, stay focused, stay cool. Like he had been on the way to Nchuand-Zel. Yes, exactly like that. He'd been a reassurance back then, I'd be a reassurance now, and we'd be even.

Just had to make sure my fears didn't corrode me from the inside out and crawl out of my throat in the form of the tortured squeal of a madwoman. The risk increased with every step, but I did my best to suppress them and make sure they stayed put.

Gods, I wanted to be out of there.

* * *

I heard Felix grumble to himself and clear his throat behind my back. "This is the third time we've taken this left, maybe we should simply go right."

"No!" I started, pointing at the open door to my right. My free claws had unsheathed of their own accord, while those on my other hand scraped at the trigger and stock of my weapon.

I... I hadn't willed them out, my nerves weren't so frayed as to make me snap so soon to a simple observation.

Right?

"I mean, no, I'm... sure it's the first time." I tried, shaking my head. I had been so focused on the floor that I hadn't been checking for landmarks. Or the walls. It was all the same, all dust and opaque metal without a hint of rust. Had we been running in circles? Was I seriously that far removed from reality after less than half an hour? "We just have to go left again. Then we'll be somewhere... else."

"Daro'sheeva, are you all right?" Felix asked me, a hint of worry in his voice. As if that weren't enough for me to question my own sanity, he placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. "Want me to take the lead from here?"

I didn't answer straight away. I have no doubt he thought I was having some kind of mental breakdown, what with me being the frail little Khajiit that I was. Down here in the darkness, with no way out, ageless steel wherever we turned, mysterious writings in an alien tongue on every door... that made sense even to me at the moment. It wouldn't have been completely untrue, either. I myself was considering giving up on the tough act and curling up into a ball to weep like a kitten who wanted the mommy she'd never had.

For the most part, however, it was because I'd heard a noise to my right.

It started off distant, insignificant, easily mistaken for a metallic groan. Then it gradually grew more and more definite, up to the point I could easily recognize it for what it really was.

Someone was whistling.

Felix's hand let go of my shoulder. I heard his blade slide free of its scabbard. His light vanished, leaving us in the dark. "You're hearing that too, aren't you?"

"Yeah." I whispered, ears flicking towards the source of this new, constant noise. My eyes adjusted quickly. I aimed down into the empty corridor, past the open door on the right. "I don't think that's the Orc or the Elf. He's too quiet, she's too sophisticated."

Felix said nothing. I tensed up and squinted, trying to separate wall from figure, sound from echo, illusion from reality. The hallway branched off in two directions a good fifty yards ahead.

We only had to wait, this other person was so close I could distinguish the single notes. I didn't know the song. The rhythm was all over the place.

Then the man's silhouette gradually came into view, illuminated by a sickly green light on his arm. It had to be a man, he was human-sized, shoulders looked broader than the hips, didn't seem to have a single curve on him. In any case, he was much taller than me, but... something about his form was off. Bulkier than it should be.

Oh, right, armor.

He slouched down the hallway as if he knew the place by heart, head swinging left and right as he whistled that weird tune and tapped his left hand near the walls, all under that faint green glow. A massive crossbow's stock peeked from his shoulder, bigger than any other weapon of its kind I'd ever seen...

No, wait, it was strapped the wrong way. Was it sideways?

What? If I could see the stock's side, then the prod had to be digging into his back right now.

"He's up ahead." I warned Felix in a hushed tone. "I don't know who he is. He's armed and armored, not expecting us."

Felix kept quiet. Thank Mara he hadn't started asking questions like 'what sort of armor is he wearing' or 'what is he carrying', because those were tricky to answer. It was hard to make out anything clear when everything was gray and black and green. My sight was only a bit sharper in absolute darkness, good for moving around, not for picking up details. I'd need the Moons or the stars to truly see in the dark.

"Hold it, hold it..." I hissed, taking aim. When the man came close enough for us to fall upon him, I'd shoot him in the shoulder and disable his arm while Felix would do his thing with the sword and magic.

Ugh, what was up with the smell? It was like... gangrene, rotten. Was he wounded? Wouldn't matter soon enough.

A few more steps, a few more ugly notes...

"Now!"

The candlelight whooshed into existence right above the doorframe. I took a good look at his face and...

I squeaked and grazed his shoulder with my bolt.

It all happened so fast, I... I'm not sure what happened, exactly.

One moment the man was walking, clueless, rotten and skinless in his olive and pickle green armor, and the other thunder cracked and lightning flashed.

My ears rang, my eyes stung, a shudder ran over my whole body and each and every one of my hairs stood on edge.

It... whatever it had been, I had felt a blast of hot air so close to my face. I instinctively brought up a hand and rubbed it over my snout. My fur was all there, no blood was pouring out, my shoulders were fine, I wasn't dying even though my heart was about to explode, my whiskers vibrated and-

Wait.

Wait, was one of my whiskers missing?

What? How? Had the rotten one done it?

I couldn't help but stare numbly at him as smoke curled over... whatever it was he had used. It was forged from polished metal and shaped like an 'L'. I had never in my life seen something even remotely similar to that. The way his hand held it made me think of a dagger's grip, but his forefinger was ready to pull a small trigger, like a crossbow, and the hollow part pointed right between my eyes reminded me of a blowpipe.

I had no idea just how shocked Felix was behind me, but the man in front of me – if he could be called that – barely showed any emotion. I doubted he could. He... he had to be an undead, there was no other explanation. What living man looked like a long-dead corpse, with the skin peeled off and the nose missing and the patches of bone showing? He smelled even worse than one, if possible.

His eyes, though... they were dark, smart, and peeved. An undead's eyes were empty and they shone eerily, like purple or blue. His didn't. This was... something new.

His armor was just as weird as him. He wore a drab and weathered... cloth... cuirass filled with pockets and satchels, with matching elbow and knee pads and a pale green helmet. What kind of armor was that? Underneath his 'plates' were torn-up faded green pants and a jacket of the same color, rolled-up sleeves revealing a flayed forearm and bony hands. His worn boots had been black once, and now were crusted with mud. Everything he wore was covered in tears, scratches, holes, gashes. All patched up with different fabrics, all dirty with dried blood and sand.

There was one item that was, if possible, even stranger than his armor: the bulky bracer on his left arm. It could only be described as large and unwieldy, a hideous matte gray thing with a lot of ugly... whatsits sticking out and a black rectangle with... glowing green bits on top.

"Wh-who are you?" I heard myself whimper, gawping at the eldritch thing he now aimed at Felix.

A few instants later, a sword slowly clicked back into its sheath. Taking the hint, I slung the crossbow over my back. Part of me wanted to rip through his windpipe with my claws, but the rest of me remembered the thunder and lightning and decided it wasn't that wise an idea.

Was the thing enchanted? Definitely. Magic was at work here. Bad magic.

The man barked out something in a tongue I'd never heard, his voice so hoarse and gruff as to make me cough on reflex.

He paused for a second and, when we didn't react, he sighed to himself, waved his L-shaped device in front of him and put it back inside a tiny black sheath on his hip. He gave us a sassy smile, all yellow teeth and blackened gums. I squirmed at the sight.

"I'm fairly sure this means he is not an enemy." Felix muttered, about as dumbfounded as me at this point. He took a single step forward, enough to stand by my side and nudge me in the ribs. "You shot him, do something."

"Some help you are..." I growled, glaring so fiercely at the Imperial he winced. Smart son of a bitch. First he agreed to my plan, and then expected me to solve this whole thing?

Uh... no, wait, that made sense. I had put him in this situation, come to think of it.

All right, he won this one.

I went back to the rotting man, who was now speaking in a much warmer language that was, if possible, even more bizarre than the first.

I shook my head and shrugged, tapping on my lips and ears to try and convey the idea that I couldn't make out a word of what he was saying. "Sorry, I don't speak... whatever in Oblivion you're speaking." I rubbed at my jaw and made an attempt with Ta'agra. " _Do you understand me?_ "

He tilted his head when I switched languages, but that was about the greatest response I was going to have from him. He waved me off and mumbled something in the first tongue, then started digging into the several compartments on his chest.

Felix and I exchanged a look, wondering if he'd move in for the kill now that we were unarmed.

By the time we returned to the not-quite-undead he'd fished out two small boxes wrapped in brown paper. He extended his hand towards us, the packets sitting on his palm, and shook it as if to say 'take them'. Probably what he snarled out, too.

I eyed the things first, and scowled at his unreadable and mostly peeled-off face second. How was I supposed to trust anything this guy gave me after he'd nearly made me go deaf and blind with his L-shaped gizmo? Not to mention, he had blown off one of my whiskers. Those took months to grow back. I wasn't an idiot, and neither was Felix, who let out a snort.

The man rolled his eyes and grumbled what couldn't be anything other than a curse. He put on an unimpressed sneer and carefully tore through the thin paper of the packages. He opened them both and showed us what was inside: two sharp fangs of an unknown beast, ivory-white with minuscule black runes scrabbled all over them. Pendants...?

That was better already, but... I didn't like them. Maybe I was only imagining it, since neither he nor Felix seemed to notice, yet I was fairly sure they emitted a low and steady thrum, as if enchanted with something very, very powerful – or very, very nasty. Had anyone ever been killed by wearing any kind of jewelry other than rings? I knew for a fact there were some rings around Tamriel that killed the wearer. My twin cousins dabbled in all sorts of cursed rings, even my sister knew how to make one.

Necklaces, though? Did they make those too?

Exasperated by our lack of faith in him, the man took both of them and threw them over his neck. He spread his arms and glared at the two of us before he all but snapped them off and handed them to us once more. As if that weren't enough, he took the two fangs between thumb and forefinger and hoisted them a few inches.

I couldn't help but chuckle. Different language or no, the concept of shoving something up someone else's ass was apparently universal.

Well, it wasn't like we had a choice now, did we? I snatched one of the amulets while Felix scoffed at the implied threat. I ran a finger over the lace, over the fang itself, sniffed them both, held the thing to my ear... it did buzz or throb ever so slightly, but nothing else. The runes didn't shift nor did they shimmer, they were there, period. I gave it a lick, just to be sure, but it only tasted of sand and oldness.

Time to put it on, then. I was still skeptical about this, and I would only be calm when it hung harmlessly from my-

A wave of nausea hit me straight in the stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut and doubled over with a groan.

Oh, shit, I knew this thing was cursed. I knew it, damn. Gods help me, I didn't want to die because of an ugly necklace, it was just so dumb as far as ways to go went... ugh, how long did I have to suffer now? I... I couldn't...

I dropped to my knees and vomited.

I had no idea where so much stuff had come from. It was all water, but I thought I saw a little red. My throat burned with the bile. Despite all that, it made me feel better. Not great, but definitely an improvement. I was back on my paws with a little effort, my ears were better, my eyes had barely watered.

Yeah, it could have gone worse. I wasn't dead, at least.

"Goddammit, it's on my boots. Great. Must've been a hairball or something... wonder if this thing licks itself?"

That rasp was more than enough for me to gnash my teeth together. I used my sleeve to wipe away the spittle and glowered at the rotten man. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

He seemed surprised. Both of his hairless, skinless eyebrows went up, and he whistled once more. "Oh, now you speak English." He pinched the bridge of a nose he didn't have. "Way to go, Dave. Make racist assumptions about the cat lady when she's right in front of you."

I found myself blinking at him. I... he... we spoke the same language.

It wasn't me speaking his language, it was him speaking mine... or was it the other way around? His words were Tamrielic, I was sure of it, but the accent was way off. No, could it be that I understood this 'English' of his? Who was speaking which language right now? Magrus, my head hurt.

I picked the fang hanging from my neck and frowned. It had to be this thing, I was sure of it. Whatever it had done and however unpleasant, it must have been it.

"The necklace?" The rotten man came to the same conclusion as me, more curious rather than amazed or aghast. "Looks ancient, but it's gotta be advanced. Some sort of universal translator, like in the comics? A storage unit? Wait, is it an AI? Did someone really fit an AI into something that small?" He chortled. "And I thought Robert House was smart."

This time around I knew the language, but the words weren't making any sense. Was that magic jargon? Had to be. Damn, I wished I had some knowledge of magic that wasn't 'don't push the bearded man with the pointy hat around'. Still, with all the stuff I've, ah... 'borrowed' from guilds or wizards, I should have heard or read at least one of those concepts. Maybe it was his own magic? Maybe he had his own words for spells or enchantments? Maybe he had been taught by a madman?

A loud clang nearly made me jump out of my fur. I twirled around, ready for anything that might attack us, yet I only saw Felix holding a hand against the wall to keep his balance, massaging his temple and cursing softly to himself all the while. Something wrong with him? Ah, no, he'd just... worn the thing. Yeah, it was tinning on his chestplate right there. Lucky for him, it only looked like a mild headache. That wasn't fair.

"Thank fuck they didn't melt my face when I put them on... well, melt it any more, anyway." The living corpse considered, scratching at his chin with a horrendous noise. Eww, was that a flake of his skin that fluttered to the ground? "At least he hasn't ruined my old boots even more, I guess." He gave me a level glance. "Unlike someone else."

I wanted to tell him how awful it had felt and how he couldn't get it since he hadn't gone through the same, but I had the impression a man who looked and smelled like him was probably used to much, much worse. Who knew how many pieces of him had fallen off already, and which ones, and how painful it must have been and still be. Had he been revived by someone, or was it some terrible disease that had reduced him to... that?

"Hngh, all right, it's... it's over." Felix hissed through gritted teeth. He tentatively opened one eye, then let go of the wall and sighed. "Finally." At last, he admired the pool of sick I had left by his feet and grimaced. "Ah... are you all right, Daro'sheeva?"

"I guess." I reassured him. Not like he needed it, but maybe he was worried about me? I liked to think he was worried about me. "You good, Felix?"

"I'll live." Felix stated, matter-of-factly. He popped a kink in his neck and flinched at the crack. "An experience I'd rather forget."

"So your name's Daro'sheeva, and yours is Felix." The rotting man hummed, pointing at each of us in turn and taking in our details in the white light of Felix's spell. He shrugged and extended a hand. "I'm Dave. Short for David."

I eyed the exposed bone on his knuckles with unease, and shook it with as little strength as I dared. I refrained from making a squeamish little noise when he let go. Ugh, disgusting, it... his skin and muscle had the consistency of rotten flesh, but they were warm, and I was sure I had scraped off a bit of his palm. I had to take a bath after this. I hoped there was a stream or a river nearby.

That aside, what kind of name was 'David'? I had never heard of anyone called like that. Not in Elsweyr or in Skyrim, at any rate.

Was it Cyrodiilic? No, that didn't cut it, Felix was as baffled as me judging by his face. I supposed he was from High Rock, the Bretons were a weird bunch, what with them being half-elves and all.

Or could it be an Elven name? 'Dave' sounded Elven, sort of. What kind of Elven, though?

After having shaken a very dumbstruck Felix's hand, whom I envied wholeheartedly for those leather gloves he wore underneath the gauntlets, Dave turned back to me. "Anyway, I wouldn't want to sound rude, but, uhm..." He pursed his lips. "What the fuck are you, exactly?"

I scowled at him, while Felix went stiff with withheld laughter. Tempting though it may be to start a very heated argument and asking him why he was rotting, I settled for a civil answer. "I'm a Khajiit."

"Right..." Dave nodded, unconvinced. He raised his hands in an apologetic motion. "Listen, I don't mean to offend you or anything. You're used to humans, but I've never seen your kind before – and for an old ghoul like me, it says a lot." He made a face that was pretty hard to interpret without most of the skin and facial muscles to define it. "Uh, so... I've never really been East of Arizona or Utah, even before the Great War. Where do you come from? Nebraska, Kansas, Kentucky? Maybe the East Coast? You know, Virginia, Pennsylvania?" He furrowed his brows. "New York? Yeah, gotta be. That one was hit pretty hard, mutations must have gone wild over there... while we're there, is old Lady Liberty still standin'?"

I shook my head at the list of names he'd just shot off. What were those? Quarters? Villages? Cities? Regions? Kingdoms, maybe? And what did he mean by 'Great War', the one between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire my aunt had fought in? Who in Oblivion was Lady Liberty? "No, I... I've never heard of them. I'm from Elsweyr."

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious you're from elsewhere." Dave chuckled. "No, really, I'm serious. So you aren't from the US... what is it, Canada, Mexico?" He cocked his head back and rapped his knuckles on his helmet. "I don't think it's Europe, and China's out of the question..." He snapped his fingers and gave me a knowing grin. "I know it, you're from Japan! The Japanese always had a thing for cat girls, the damn little perverts. So, what part of Japan is it? Tokyo, Osaka, or-"

"Stop it, I don't know what you're talking about!" I cut him off, raising my voice and making an effort to breathe. I began to feel my throat tightening. This wasn't right. How come nobody had ever mentioned those places to me before today? "I'm a Khajiit and I'm from Elsweyr – Anequina and Pelletine! Felix is an Imperial, he's from Cyrodiil." I gestured towards myself and Felix, who had gone from amused to concerned. Where were we? Who was this man? "From the Empire, the Mede Empire in Tamriel. On Nirn." I smiled at the mention of our world, my only certainty. "Mundus, Nirn, you understand?"

Dave brought both of his hands in front of his mouth, as if in prayer. Was he mad at us? Maybe he was an Akavir and he hated Tamriel. Made sense if he disliked us for having tried to invade his homeland, but they'd invaded ours. Yeah, he had to be Akavir.

It had to make sense.

Was he about to... would he explain what had happened to us? Yes, that... that also made sense. Maybe he'd never met travelers like us, or maybe he knew what was up with Nchuand-Zel and the crystal. He knew how to take us back home.

Had to.

"I'm not sure what the fuck you're talking about." Dave said at last. My heart fell. What? He'd never heard of Tamriel? Akavir had tried to invade Tamriel... did he know it under a different name? "Are those... places on Earth?"

Felix whined like a beaten dog. Something clanged loudly. I couldn't tell if he was kneeling or if he'd punched the wall, he felt so far away right now. I heard him sob once, then start repeating the same word over and over and over. Sounded like 'Divines'.

I felt myself go numb. I leaned against the wall for support.

This... this wasn't happening. It was all a dream, or a joke. A big joke the others were playing on me. Now the walls would fall like curtains and the Orc and the Altmer were going to jump out and this undead would puff into a cloud of ashes and Felix would pat me on the back and say 'look at your face'.

Had to go this way.

Had to.

Please.

"E-Earth?"

"Yeah, you know, planet Earth." Dave continued as though I'd stated the obvious. He paused when I choked, then went on regardless. "This is Vault 24, near lake Mohave, about eighty miles Southeast of Las Vegas, Nevada. Former United States of America." He flicked his wrist, thinking it would help me. "America. Like North America, one of the seven continents on planet Earth along with South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia and Antarctica? Ring any bells?"

I couldn't breathe.

Gods, Gods, I couldn't breathe.

This wasn't happening, this was all wrong, this wasn't right.

I wanted to go home.

Why wasn't I waking up?

Where was I?

Why was I here?

Those weren't the continents, not one of them was on Nirn, not one of them.

This... I was still in Nchuand-Zel, I had to be, couldn't be anywhere else except for Nchuand-Zel. That crystal had made me fall asleep and now I was having fever dreams, that had to be it.

Had to.

Why couldn't I breathe? It was easy, breathe in, breathe out, why was it so hard?

Where was home? Where was I? Could the Gods hear me?

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe, how do you breathe?

Why weren't the Gods answering?

My eyes rolled back and I felt myself fall.


	4. Initiative

**\- JACK OF SPADES -**

I stared numbly at the space between my knees.

A slab of ancient steel so... alien, foreign, forged and hammered so far from where I belonged.

No matter how hard my shin guards scraped on it and convinced me of its solidity, I refused to believe I really knelt there.

I held my head between my hands lest it fell off with the weight of the knowledge.

This... this wasn't Nchuand-Zel, this wasn't Skyrim, this wasn't Tamriel, this wasn't Nirn. I wasn't on Mundus anymore. I was inside a... a structure, Vault 24, about eighty miles away from a place called Las Vegas, Nevada, in the lands of the former United States of America, part of a continent named North America, on... on another world, Earth.

How far away was my home?

How did I get back to Skingrad now? Not even ten million gold coins could help me now.

I was poor, alone, and... and...

Hot tears streaked down my cheeks, scoring glistening circles over the dust they dropped on.

If only uncle Lucius were here... he'd know what to do, he'd have a solution, he always had. I wanted to smile at the memory of his long brazen beard and his shiny scalp, of his pensive frown... but I couldn't. He would have analyzed the problem without giving away the faintest hint of emotion, all while Brynhild fussed about how she wouldn't listen to him ever again, only to meet my eye and chew on her lower lip like a six-foot-six little girl to ask me if he really could break us out of this mess.

Now I was alone.

I wasn't him, I wasn't with them, I couldn't solve this.

Would I ever see them again?

"Hey kid, you alright?"

The rasp dragged me out of my fond memories and back into that oppressing dungeon. Metal crushed me from all sides, with no light to pierce the darkness save for my waning spell.

To my left lay Daro'sheeva, unconscious, balled up like a kitten.

In front of me David, the... man who had found us. He was no undead, that much was obvious. A living soul trapped in a rotting husk, carrying eldritch weapons and wearing unknown armor... I had no idea what he could do, or who he truly was.

His question, however, made my blood boil.

Who did he think he was to call me a kid? Why ask such a foolish question in the first place? I, all right? Could he not see me, or Daro'sheeva? My temples began to pound, my teeth ground together.

I blew out a snort and raised my reddened eyes, wiping the tears away with my middle and forefinger. "Do I look all right to you?"

"Had to ask, might make you feel better." David shrugged. As though he understood what this meant to me, to the Khajiit as luckless as I was. He went quiet for a moment, giving me a gangrenous smile. "Y'know, you ain't gonna solve anything by being miserable, kiddo."

"Stop it, just... shut up." I growled, keeping myself from snarling. Did he consider this a trivial matter, as though we had merely lost our way home and needed directions? The very thought made me ball my fist with a squeak of leather. "Do not patronize me, I am not a child!" My voice rose to a shout. My knuckles struck the floor, the vibrations and pain rising up to my shoulder, to my jaw. "You have no idea how this feels, what it is like to lose any hope of seeing your home ever again! So don't you-"

His hand lashed out without a warning.

My head jerked to the right, the left side of my face burning.

As I held my fingers to my cheek, David squatted before me and glared into my eyes. "Listen here, kid." He said, his voice plain. A waft of putrid air slapped me with the same strength as his strike. "You want me to stop callin' you a kid? Then stop actin' like a whiny brat. You've still got something. You got your life, you got the cat girl, and you know your home's still out there, somewhere. You've got hope." His forehead pressed into mine, forcing me to stare back into his furious brown eyes. "I don't. Haven't had any of that for over two hundred years. Just broken pieces that keep slippin' from my fingers and I can't glue back together no matter how hard I try. I know exactly what it feels like to lose my home, my world. So don't think you can out-pity me, kid."

As I recovered from his words and his stench, he stood up once more. Not one second passed before he offered me his hand, the same he'd used to hit me. "Now get your shit together, man up, and stand on your feet. You'll figure it all out later."

I narrowed my eyes on him.

In the end, I grasped his wrist and let him help me up. My knees, weak though they were, could hold my weight.

I didn't know what he was talking about, but... two hundred years? Had he been like that for so long? Had something even worse than this happened to him? Divines, I... I really did sound like a whiny brat in comparison.

Besides, he was right. I still had my own life, I still had one of the people who had been stranded into this madness with me and, most important of all, I still had a home. I had no idea where or how to find it again, but it was out there, somewhere. It had to be. Reaching it was another matter entirely, one in which I was powerless. Uncle Lucius would have had a plan and a way to enact it, elaborate steps and procedures, perhaps even back-ups.

I didn't. I only had a few basic spells, a sword, and that humanoid lynx.

I let out a shaky breath. I'd come up with something, eventually. "What now?"

"I've got an idea." David grumbled, tilting his head to his right and towards Daro'sheeva's senseless form. "For starters, don't leave her here. Didn't take it well the first time." He tapped onto his helmet. "Not to mention, two heads work better'n one. Take her with you."

My eyes fell onto the Khajiit girl, passed out near a puddle of her own vomit. My friend? I hardly knew anything other than her name. Take her with me? Why should I care about her? She was just another adventurer, lost and forgotten by the world as I, the Orc and the Elf had been. Few would remember her. Another stranger, someone who hadn't earned an ounce of my trust, a...

A lonely girl, so frightened and frail that her mind had shut down instead of coping with the horror of this new world...

No, I... I couldn't leave her here. It may sound odd, and yet she reminded me of myself. Alone, young, in dire need of help. Would she have done the same for me? Would it be worth the risk? What if...

Ah, damn it all to Oblivion, David was right: I could not leave her down here.

I crouched down low, swept my left arm under her waist and my right under her shoulders, and lifted.

I almost headbutted her in the stomach. I'd expected her to be heavier, and yet she weighed no more than a child. She wouldn't stand a chance anywhere, even on Tamriel.

As much as I hated to admit it, we were in this together. I just hoped this wouldn't come back to bite me in the arse later in the form of an emptied satchel or a knife planted in my back.

"And they say chivalry's dead." David commented with a smug little smirk. Then he took that L-shaped weapon from his hip, fidgeted with it by making it clack and clatter, and gazed down either side of the hallway. "Okay, now take care, look after the kitty, enjoy your time here in Nevada, hope you find a way back home, never give up and all those things. I've got deliveries to make, I'm sure you can find the exit on your own."

... What?

"Deliveries?" I repeated, dumbfounded. What did he mean by that? Where was he going? Why was he leaving us here? No, no, he... he couldn't be going away now that he had set me on the right path.

"Yeah, y'know, like yours." David continued, nodding once towards my chest, ,towards... the amulet? Wait, he was here to give us these, nothing else? I thought he had stumbled here by chance and had come to help us, not... for a job. "I'm a part-time courier. I get paid to make deliveries. This time, they hired me to deliver four of those, standard procedure, express delivery." He dug into one of his pouches for two more packets, identical to those which had contained our pendants, and made a face with what was left of his features. "Well, havin' a hooded guy hand me a letter right in front of my house ain't exactly standard procedure, but you get the gist. Someone wanted these here by four PM. Two I've given to you, so now I..."

I stopped listening after that point, deafened as I was by the gears in my own brain shifting and grinding.

He had been hired to deliver four of those necklaces? I tried to make sense of what he had just said, yet I failed at first. No, that was simply impossible, he couldn't expect me to believe what he was saying. That would have meant someone expected we would accidentally activate the crystal in Nchuand-Zel and then reappear here. In truth, it had been an accident. We had been hired anonymously, with unclear directives, to go to a precise spot so we would seek something we would recognize the moment we set our eyes upon it, nothing else. So why...

The gears spat sparks and smoke.

That was exactly why.

We had no orders to retrieve anything or bring it to Markarth, only to find an unidentified item. The letter ended there. We had received no further instructions. If it wasn't the toy, then it must be the crystals. Could it be that we weren't meant to do anything else but... be here? If this man had been hired to deliver exactly four pendants, through a message just like we had been, this only confirmed my doubts.

The more I thought about it, the more I refused to accept it, the more sensed it appeared to me.

We weren't here by chance.

Our contractor had wanted us precisely where we were now. We would wake up into another world, confused and scared, and we would conveniently be granted a means to understand the language of its dwellers. There was no other explanation.

But why? Gods-dammit, why? What would this elusive bastard have to gain from all this? Was this some sadistic wish, just to see us suffer?

No. No, of course not, it could not be so simple as that. There had to be more to it than...

The snapping of fingers returned me to reality.

Strips of tendons and bones popped right before my nose again, forcing me to meet David's nettled gaze. He let his hand fall to his side and grunted. "Are you gonna space out on me while I'm talkin'? What're you, a fuckin' hamster?"

My head reeled with the possibilities and implications, with the unnerving lack of an answer. The gears were spinning wildly now.

Still, I had to focus on the immediate – at least momentarily. In this case, on what the ancient man had just said. "What's a hamster?"

"It's a little... never mind." David sighed and adjusted the straps of his helmet. "Look, I've gotta get these necklaces to the other two members of this 'diversified team of professionals'. I figured you two fit the bill, diversified and all." He pinched the bridge of a nose that had rotted off long ago, almost as if afraid to ask. "Before I go, supposin' you were together... who am I lookin' for here?"

I had several questions, but I set them aside for later. Why was he leaving us here? Was his work more important than helping us grow accustomed to this new world, illustrate us how to survive, where to go? Well... there was an answer to those, come to think of it. We weren't his responsibility.

In any case, I would deal with that later. Better stay with the here and now. So, he had never seen a Khajiit but he had previous knowledge of humans. Perhaps he had been one himself. He might know of other races, it wasn't out of the question.

I pursed my lips for an instant, then I answered. "A female High Elf and a male Orc."

David blinked twice at me. He squinted as though I were joking and, when my expression didn't change, he moaned out loud. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, are you serious? An Elf and an Orc? Oh, you've gotta be shittin' me, you..." He rubbed at his eyes, cursing under his breath all the way. "No, you're serious. Clicks together: your armor, the cat, the necklaces... great." He let out a hysterical laugh. "Fan-fuckin'-tastic, really. Now my life's become a goddamn tabletop game."

I couldn't be certain of what he was rambling on about; then again, I really had no reason to care about this game he had mentioned. I had greater things to worry about.

Namely, I would have to find my own way out of here, ideally by retracing his footsteps, all while staving off the... the thing I had felt in the darkness before Daro'sheeva had found me. I grimaced at the petite form in my arms. She had saved me then, and it appeared I was to return the favor.

David was about to go back the way he came, so I issued more of my Magicka to sustain my sputtering candlelight. I didn't want to be left in the dark again, not here, where the shadows were so different, so restless, so numerous. I wanted to place a hand on his shoulder and ask him to stop, take us with him.

I would never admit it, but I was scared. Of so many things. This was a whole new plane of existence, one I had never heard of, and not even the Divines would be able to hear me out of Mundus.

Of all things, I was afraid that a hideous revenant such as him would leave us here.

I had already broken into a cold sweat when David glanced over his shoulder and stopped. Was something the matter? He looked... conflicted. Torn between two choices.

Was he reconsidering? Mara, make it so he would reconsider leaving us here. Anywhere but here.

"On second thought, I figure High Elf and an Orc can handle things just fine. Maybe it's better if you come with me." David finally announced. He motioned for me to follow. "I'll take you someplace safe."

I briefly thought about kissing him on the cheek, but I changed my mind after I saw his teeth through a thumb-wide tear in his skin.

Instead, my arms and shoulders sagged under Daro'sheeva's weight and I all but trotted after him, the candlelight bobbing left and right over my head. This was for the best, I was sure of it.

I had no idea whether I could trust this man or not but, given the alternatives, he was our best and only chance.

Why would he be goggling at the ceiling and tracking the movements of my candlelight spell, though, was anyone's guess. I surely had no answer for that.

"What?" I inquired, frowning at his scowl. "Does my spell surprise you?"

"Spell?" David muttered, gawping at me as though I had told him I was the lusty Argonian maid from that stupid play. "As in, magic spell?" He waggled his fingertips. "Like abracadabra, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, alakazam? Magical magic? Fantasy-wizard-with-intelligence-modifier magic? That magic?"

"Yes, magic." I confirmed, perplexed. A magic spell, of course, what else could a spell be? As for all the odd definitions and the formulas he had listed, I was unfamiliar with them. They may be tied to a scroll, sure, but they made no sense. My uncle would have had a better explanation. As for intelligence, well, it was mostly a matter of... why was he gawking at me like that? Did he have anything against magic, like most Nords? "Is there a problem?"

"No, no, just... makin' sure I heard right, met a psyker or two already, gotta be something like that anyway." David spluttered, making broad, theatrical gestures with his hands. Seeing how his scalp was covered, he ran a hand over his helmet. "Orcs, Elves, cat girls, magic... fuck, my life's really become a tabletop game." He spread his arms in defeat. "Campaign's started, players just met, some asshole of a master's havin' a laugh wherever the fuck he is. Now it's quests and high adventure with Whatshername the feline rogue, Felix the human spellsword and Dave the undead ranger." He pressed his palm against his face. "Let's just hope I don't have to roll for goddamn initiative..."

I swallowed down any comment that came to mind, mostly because his words were... unsettling, almost insane.

Maybe being saved by him wasn't as fortuitous a thing as I'd made it out to be.

* * *

A hot breeze blew in from the gear-shaped hole that David, once he had regained his fickle sanity, had labeled an exit.

Dim rays of sunlight shone in on the ruined steel room, now invaded by sand and broken rocks. Mysterious machines lined the walls, clicking and whirring to a rhythm I could not comprehend. A small altar on an upraised dais dominated the center, perhaps it had once served a ritualistic function. An iron cylinder hung from the ceiling, held in place by jointed beams. The door, if one could mistake a gear at least twice my height for a door, rested at the far end of the room. A faded ochre '24' had been painted there.

Why in Oblivion was it that I and Daro'sheeva had been running in circles for over half an hour, and David had led us to the exit in less than five minutes?

Sure, he'd eyed the glowing end of his cumbersome bracer at every corner, but why? Had he etched or drawn a map on its surface? If so, how?

I decided I would inquire later. I followed him outside the five-feet-thick doorframe and through a sloping cave of sandstone. I dispelled my candlelight as sunlight grew stronger. Every step forward and upward got us closer to the surface, while also having the effect of convincing me I would not like what I was about to see.

The air was hot as Dagon's Deadlands, so hot that my armor had begun to heat up like a bloody pot. I felt like I had just come out of a bath, dripping wet as I was, and my surroundings entirely consisted of dull yellows, oranges and browns.

It could only mean one thing, yet a little voice inside of me still hoped I was wrong.

Then we were out, and I throttled that little optimistic voice for good. I would avoid huge disappointments for a while now.

Sand.

Sand as far as the eye could see.

Sand and hills, sand and skies with not a cloud in sight, sand and a sun so intense that only a Khajiit or a Redguard could tolerate its glare.

Everywhere I turned I was met with sand and heat and my own sweat trickling down into my eyes. It truly went to show that we were out of the Divines' range. At the very least, I was.

Of all the places we may have appeared on this world, it had to be a damn desert. I wanted to deposit Daro'sheeva for a moment, chew on my own knuckles, and rip my hair out while howling at the heavens.

What had I done to deserve this? Why was I in a desert? How would I get out of it? Would I ever get out of it?

Which begged the question: how had David come here, exactly? I didn't see any horses or camels tied anywhere. Even if he had come riding an animal of any kind, it would be a bit hard to fit three people on it. The only elements that stood out in the scorching vista were a strip of cracked, dark gray stone and the husks of rusted metal on it.

It was obvious that the rocky line had to be a road, yet I could not fathom what those abandoned things were. Were they part of the scenery? Were they relics? Hold on, were... were those skeletons sitting inside the long one, and a couple of shorter ones?

Well, maybe the sunlight did have an upside, after all. I didn't dare imagine what I would see at night.

"Come on!" I heard David call, yards away to my left. "We ain't got all day!"

I tore myself out of my sightseeing and turned just in time to see him with his arms folded near... what in Julianos's name was that? A big rusty box on wheels?

No, that didn't even come close to describing it. A behemoth of rust much wider, taller and longer than a horse-drawn cart, resting on four comically small wheels. Even then I could hardly tell what its true form and colors were, covered as it was in pipes, spikes and barbs of all shapes and sizes – and those were crusted with mud, dust and darker splotches of dried blood. Maybe there was some glass down there, under the two or three layers of gruesome death and agonizing pain.

I waited until I had crossed the distance separating the two of us – which wasn't all that easy, holding someone in both arms with the sun beating down on me like a flame Atronach on a bad day – before I glowered straight into his eyes and nodded towards that... thing. "What is this?"

"It's an old and heavily modified Lenco Bearcat APC, originally employed by the long-disbanded LVMPD SWAT Teams." David recited quickly, almost too quickly for me to decipher all the gibberish he had just spewed. "For you, it's our way out of here."

I did a little check of the colossus, from the comparatively tiny wheels to the sloped end on one side to what looked like door handles hidden beneath the jagged wire it had been lined with. I returned his explanation with an unimpressed scoff. "Are you telling me this thing moves?"

"Okay, first off, it's not a 'thing', it's an APC." David corrected me, as though I could be brought to care about the right term for a box with wheels. "And second, this babe tops a hundred and twenty on straightaways."

I couldn't help but scowl in suspicion. I wasn't too fond of random numbers casually being thrown into conversations. "A hundred and twenty what?"

David flashed me another one of his carious smiles, the sort that would make my own teeth jump out of my mouth in horror. "Miles an hour."

I felt my eyes go wide.

A hundred and twenty... oh no, this wasn't possible. Was he seriously telling me a hulk like that could cover a hundred and twenty miles in an hour? The fastest purebred stallion I had ever ridden could reach but a fraction of that speed. And this... this mishmash of pointy metal, unimaginable weight and human suffering could do more than three or four times that? How could it possibly achieve such peaks? How did it move? Where would the... master have to be seated in order to maneuver it? Was it even safe? Were such speeds survivable?

"C'mon, don't give me that face and hop in." David laughed, slapping me on my armored shoulder, holding his hand there, and hauling me towards the taller end of the thing.

A hundred and twenty miles in an hour, this?

I let him fish inside the sharp, rusty edges for whatever he was trying to reach, too daunted by the thing's supposed speed to warn him to be careful. Did we even have something remotely as quick on Tamriel? Why would you need to go this fast in the first place?

A moment later something clicked, and the defensive shell of rust and spines parted with the two doors swinging on their hinges. A small stair of two steps popped down to facilitate the boarding, revealing an inside which... well, it didn't leave such a bad impression as the outside had.

Made of aged brushed steel and an opaque gray material I had trouble identifying, I have to say it was rather spacious - and hot as an oven. Two benches were fixed to the sides, like on a cart, and to the far end two padded chairs had been mounted behind two panes of glass. In the middle of it all was a mess of clothes and items so utterly alien to me that I didn't spare them a second glance. I was certain most of them were weapons, since they shared the hollow ends and the triggers with the ones the rotten man carried.

I climbed the steps as slowly as I dared, trying not to step on anything that I might break or might kill me, and settled Daro'sheeva on her side onto the bench to my left, much to my arms' joy.

She stirred uneasily and whined, returning to her peace only once I sat down by her head, placing myself between her and the padded chairs. These benches weren't all that bad. Not soft, not by a long shot, yet infinitely better than the wooden planks I'd had to sit on for long travels.

The doors closed with a whump. I slumped into my seat at the noise, head raised towards the ceiling. I cupped my hands over my face, wiped the sweat away, and sighed.

Now that I had a moment of rest, my mind went back to work.

With said work came all the unanswered questions, all the new and old fears alike, all the pathetic replies I whipped up so that they would stay quiet for a while longer. I had gone too far to believe this was a delirious dream anymore.

I couldn't wake up, I was awake. This was happening.

Here I was, stranded on a bloody desert on an unknown world without a way to go back home. I doubted I had died and this was the afterlife, it was far too strange and different from the way I had imagined it. I would have said 'unreal', yet this was as real as my clammy hair and my cooking sunburns.

After another clack and another thump, David clambered onto the chair directly to my left. I postponed my uncertainties to the moment we would reach our destination, shook my head to clear it of any stray reflections, and listened to the decayed man.

He had to be toying with some keys, because I heard them clinking together and being set into a lock. Then came a sound like... like a pigeon taking flight, accompanied by a loud buzzing noise. Everything started to vibrate and there was a loud clunk.

A slight bump told me we had moved.

He had been right, this thing truly did move. I couldn't help but swallow and hoist myself to my feet, even though they weren't on steady ground, in order to see what David was doing to perform what to me appeared like a miracle.

Needless to say, I did not understand a thing.

His position reminded me of a ship's helm, with a seat for him and a large black wheel he gripped to direct the course. His feet pressed something I couldn't really see as he reached out with his right hand to pull a long stick back, waited a while, and pushed it forward again. That lever reminded me of a Dwarven machine, but other than that I hadn't the faintest inkling what was going on.

If this mechanism was so hard to operate, I'd rather not question its functioning and simply accept it as a fact. It was complex and David knew how to deal with it, period. Although, there was something fascinating in how relaxed he was throughout the whole process, in how he stared out of his window or porthole while the scenery rolled by. This was new, so...

"It's called drivin'." David provided, eyes fixed on the old road ahead of us. He had put something in front of them, two small pieces of mirror-like glass held together by a thin steel frame. They reminded me of my uncle's spectacles. "You're probably wonderin' how it works, but I don't feel like explainin'. I'd skip parts, you'd get bored because you wouldn't understand jackshit, and we'd go back to awkward silence for the rest of the trip."

I couldn't see a fault in his line of thought. He was right, I would lose interest after a while if he went into technical details or skipped the fundamental parts by taking them for granted, like the vast majority of mages tended to do.

I shrugged, went back to my seat near Daro'sheeva, and hummed. "Yes, I imagine so."

The moment I spoke, a dog barked at David's side.

I frowned. Had it been sitting on the padded chair next to him? I hadn't noticed it at all, not even the smell. I saw him reach out to pet his animal. Something rattled beyond my line of sight, probably a toy.

I raised a brow, surprised that someone old as him would be accompanied by something so short-lived. "You own a dog?"

"Oh, trust me, Rattles really is something else." David answered with a chuckle, going back to 'driving' with both hands. He whistled. "Rattles? Say hi to our new friends, girl."

I had been expecting to see a large dog trot into the back and sit down in front of me, one of a breed that would offer both companionship and use in battle to a man such as him. I had pictured it as a hound with a sandy brown coat, a stubby tail and dark eyes.

Instead, a hellish spawn of Namira started sniffing my boots.

The sole reason why I didn't let out a squeal or go for my sword was the fact David appeared to be in control of the situation.

That didn't stop me from shivering at the sight and shielding Daro'sheeva's head with my right arm. Whatever in Oblivion that thing was, it... it wasn't a dog. I could see the tan fur, the body and the paws were a dog's, sure, yet that was where the similarities ended.

My skin crawled as a broad, forked tongue started lolling out of a hideous green snake's head. Its entire back, from the tip of its snout to the wagging rattlesnake tail, was hairless and coated in the dark, striped scales of a lethal reptile. I only felt revulsion for this thing.

The instant it stood on its hind paws and bumped Daro'sheeva's ear as if asking for cuddles, I nearly went to snap its neck.

Before that happened, though, I suppressed the urge to squeak and addressed David as levelly as I could. "Call it back, now."

"What, you don't like her?" He asked, sounding genuinely saddened about the fact his hybrid demon disgusted me to no end. "She's a nightstalker! Unlike most of her kind she's smart, friendly, and-"

"It shouldn't exist!" I retorted in a hiss. The abomination made an attempt to lick the Khajiit's nose, only to sneeze when it reached the whiskers. That was the moment I noticed its array of sharp teeth and the two dagger-sized fangs dripping with poison and slobber. I placed a hand in front of its snout and pushed it back. "It's an affront to nature, and it could kill us all!"

"A'ight, fine, fine." David harrumphed. Did my reluctance in front of that being miff him? Was he insane, thinking anyone other than him might like such a beast? "Rattles, come here. It appears someone doesn't like bio-engineered good girls like you."

That unholy impossibility hesitated when told to go away from Daro'sheeva, but it finally went back to its master and curled up on the other seat.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. Gods, what was it? How had it been born? Why had it come into this world? What was it called, a 'nightstalker'? A fitting name. As if the initial trauma of this new plane of existence hadn't been great enough, now even more nightmares would haunt my dreams for the weeks to come. A nightstalker indeed.

"Where are we headed?" I found the courage to ask, keeping my annoyance at the existence of that creature at bay. A dog and a rattlesnake together... not even Sheogorath could have assembled such an obscenity.

"An outpost run by people who can help you, the Followers of the Apocalypse." David stated, his tone neutral. What kind of name was 'Followers of the Apocalypse'? It sounded like some sort of cult. It wasn't reassuring. Only worse name I could come up with was 'Mythic Dawn'. "They're doctors, but they're also scientists, historians, psychologists, linguists, physicists, you name it. They're your best chance right now, and..."

He was interrupted by the chimera barking twice, then whimpering loudly as if in protest.

Great, now it was throwing a tantrum. As if its appearance weren't enough, it was also stupid.

"Nu-huh, not happening, Rattles." David... well, he replied. Wonderful, this confirmed the scene back in the corridor: I was in the hands of a madman. Sure, I was no stranger to addressing animals - as a child, I myself used to tell my cat how cute he was. Key difference there was, I didn't hold bloody conversations with him. "We don't have the space, we don't have the resources, and we don't know if we can trust 'em."

The monstrosity growled and barked, punctuating it all with a long howl.

"The fact that the only ones livin' there are me, you, your puppies and Arthur is irrelevant – and the NCR doesn't know it's me suckin' on their power and water." David began to rant, as though the thing had made a point. I didn't want to listen or see, but at the same time I couldn't look away. Call it a macabre interest. "Besides, whaddaya mean by 'I like the cat'? You don't even know what a cat is, they went extinct fuckin' centuries ago!"

He had to be thinking out loud and considering his possibilities. He had to. I refused to believe he was seriously talking with that snake-dog hybrid over... me and Daro'sheeva? About taking us to his house? I began to prefer the apocalypse cult to entering this man's house. How could he pretend to communicate with that... nightstalker, to interpret the noises it made?

Not to mention, what did he mean when he said cats had gone extinct? That they didn't exist anymore, that they'd up and vanished like the Dwemer? How had that happened?

"Oh no, don't look at me like that." David huffed and chuckled. "I know those eyes, and I ain't buyin' it. I am not taking them in. They don't know where they are, how to use guns, how to survive, what to eat and drink, what to avoid, who to talk to – they didn't even speak English before I gave them their fuckin' magic amulet!" He jabbed a thumb towards us to emphasize. Yes, because I wasn't right there, listening to how useless both I and Daro'sheeva were in his eyes. "They're a massive responsibility."

Both him and the fiend went quiet. I saw the snake head staring at him with wide eyes, deadly still. Then it began to yap and yelp, but slowly, weakly, almost as if whispering.

At that point the doubt did cross my mind. Divines, may it really be intelligent? No, it couldn't be, it was a mix between a loyal if ultimately dumb creature and one so simple it couldn't feel emotions. I refused to think that. Although, would I rather have a madman take care of me, or live with the fact that this monster was sapient?

"Don't bring that up, I only did that once! She was lonely, she had tits like you wouldn't believe, and she turned out to be a nice person, so I... y'know what? Fuck it, I ain't arguin' with you. Smile and laugh and wag your tail all you want. You win, they're stayin' with us!" David snarled in exasperation. The nightstalker went back to happily panting and rattling its tail. "Hey, Felix, change of plans. I'm taking you two home like a pair of foster kittens, courtesy of Rattles. She took a likin' to the cat girl with the weird name."

I eyed the abomination who, I swear to the Divines, winked at me.

Good, I was losing it, I was finally going insane with the heat and the stress.

I chortled and nodded. What else was I supposed to do? "Thank you, 'Rattles'."

After receiving a satisfied bark in reply and fearing for my own sanity, David chimed in. "Yeah, you'll have all the time in the world to make friends, now I suggest you make yourself comfortable back there. It'll be two hours before we get to Vegas."

* * *

The sun had fallen below the horizon by the time David's machine came to a halt.

The view from the windows was obstructed by the mortal clutter on the outside which, in addition to the blanket of darkness, made sure I couldn't see a thing. The vibrations stopped altogether when David turned the keys and pulled them out from under the wheel. Then he clambered outside, whistled for his nightstalker beast to jump out, and closed the door.

I climbed to my feet and went towards the exit, picking my way through litter and weaponry of all kinds. I spotted two small handles sticking up sideways and pulled them both down, causing the two hunks of reinforced metal to open with a loud creak.

In came a cool gust of air, carrying a scent which chilled me to the bone.

Death.

There were no lights to illuminate this street save for the stars and moons up above, stars and moons so foreign I preferred to outright ignore. Homes rose to either side of me, yet not one window was alight, not one sound disturbed the evening. What little I could see suggested abandonment, ruins, more of those damned metal husks planted before the facades and into what may have once been gardens or courtyards.

Where Nchuand-Zel had simply been silent and eerie, this place, this... Vegas almost howled through the icy winds and gnashed its teeth with the rustling of dead bushes. I attempted to block it out, and was successful only in part. Angry muttering and skittering still haunted me as though the pavement were made of hellish insects. So much death and pain through the centuries... how could anyone keep on living here? Why would anyone even live here?

Swallowing a whimper, I scooped up Daro'sheeva, still mercifully asleep, and descended the two steps onto the fractured road. As far as appearances went, this place was nothing special. A ghost town perhaps, like dozens I had seen.

On a deeper level, though, it all reeked of unspeakable horrors and massacre. It made my gorge rise. No matter how hard I tried to keep it out of my brain, it still seeped in, still sullied the inside of my skull, still hissed its nightmares...

David was considerate enough to close the doors for me. He regarded me for a few moments, then shrugged and strolled to the left. "This way."

I turned around this means of transportation, this 'APC' as he had called it, and found myself staring at a sight brighter than any star.

Towers taller than the one we had climbed in Nchuand-Zel clustered a few miles ahead, a dozen or more edifices shrouded in a tangible aura of reds, yellows, purples, blues, greens, oranges and so many more colors I had never before seen. Life prospered there, it was plain to see. Those buildings were so tall... and they appeared to be made of glass, too. Were they windows? If they could house people, how many hundreds would inhabit them? Perhaps thousands, if one took the smaller houses near the base into account. And so close to such lifeless grounds they were...

"Yeah, that's the New Vegas." David commented as he made his way over to the sidewalk and onto a small path of cobblestones. "Eats you alive and chews on the bones. 'Sides, it's nowhere near as good as it was two hundred years ago, but it's still home. Might take you there sometime."

Said he who inhabited the neighborhood of restless souls.

This was his house, it seemed. Hard for anything to stand out in the dark, yet it reminded me of a fortress, if a simple home could be turned into one. It was surrounded by a wall of mismatched metal at least ten feet high, topped with spirals of barbed wire. What had he thrown in there to form this barrier? I could see flat surfaces bigger than his 'APC', the same large husks that dotted the roads of this region, even an immense box of rust.

He headed straight for a small gate in the exact middle of it all and unlocked it, preceded by his nightstalker on the way in.

Why would he need a defensive wall if the entire quarter was dead?

Conscious that I would eventually find out if I stayed out there for too long, I plodded behind him and through the unaesthetic bulwark, expecting the worst from what I had begun to think of as his lair. The infuriated and bitter whispers at my back weren't helping with the feeling.

What I saw instead was a rather neat masonry house built on two floors. I could hardly tell the color of the stucco, although I bet it was pale. Sure, the architecture was a bit different from what I was used to, but this had to be the most normal thing I had seen thus far. There were no deadly additions to it, either, the strangest decorations were the plates of metal that had been bolted on the windows and had reduced them to tiny slits. They were far too small for an archer or a crossbowman, but I supposed they were fine for someone armed with those thunderous weapons.

I managed to close the gate with my back and followed David inside, since he had already opened the main entrance.

It was dark and it smelled of dust and antiquity, yet the murmuring shadows were almost nonexistent here for some reason. I certainly did not mind. Now It was only a matter of him picking up a candle and lighting the-

The ancient man tapped something on the wall and yellowish light flooded the room.

I blinked in surprise at the sudden change and looked for the source. It was a round glass object set into the ceiling, no larger than my fist, glowing brighter than my candlelight and much more steadily. Hmm, interesting. Not a crystal, though. Just a... bulb.

The layout of the greenish room was rather simple. There were doorways to either side of me leading to what I presumed to be other parts of the house and then the stairs to the upper floor. A transparent door to the far end that gave me a lovely vista of what I imagined were local plants and the continuation of the ramparts.

A pair of armchairs and a padded bench sat in the middle, draped in mounds of clothes, with the short table in front of them all but squashed by boxes and bizarre variants of David's weapons. Underneath it all a colorful carpet had been placed, torn and crumpled and burned in more than a few spots. Four or five paintings hung from the walls, greatly outnumbered by racks of yet more instruments of war. I even spotted a pair of swords, three shields and half a dozen clubs.

"Welcome to my humble abode." David announced, arms spread out and mouth pulled tight in a grin. Another night's sleep gone. "Been livin' here for two hundred and thirty-eight years. As you can see, I've made it as comfortable, defensible and full of guns as possible." He pointed a finger towards Daro'sheeva, and then to the stairway. "Now take her upstairs, first door on the left. Guests' room. Two beds there, always kept it furnished just in case. You need light, turn the switch by the entrance – it's a tiny plastic thing on the right."

"Ah... uhm, thank you for your hospitality." I stuttered, a bit taken aback by his instructions, bowing as low as the Khajiit in my arms allowed me to.

He may have not been that sane to begin with, yet I could not deny he was being of great help to us.

I didn't know what plastic was, though. Although, if I was unfamiliar with it, then that would only make it stand out.

I waited for him to grumble a "You're welcome" and disappear into another room before climbing the stairs. I emerged into a narrow unlit corridor with rather soft carpeting over the floor, adorned only by a couple of stools and more paintings of landscapes or flowers or puppies.

First door on the left... there it was. I reached out with great care in case my burden slipped off, turned the handle, and found myself in even darker quarters. All right, now it was only a matter of finding the switch David had mentioned. Where was it? On the right?

Splendid, if my assumption turned out to be correct and it indeed was the little bulge, it was level with my shoulder. I couldn't use my hands, so I turned on my side and bumped into it with my arm.

The illumination on the roof buzzed to life, revealing a pair of single beds with old striped covers, two polished steel chests, two wooden bedside tables, two brown-painted cupboards, and the enormous painting of a kitten looming over both beds. Daro'sheeva would either start laughing or punch someone when she saw it.

I settled her on the bed near the door as gently as I dared. Given how she would wake up with aches everywhere if she slept wearing all the gear currently on her, I began to unfasten it all, piece by piece. The purses, the satchels, the slings, the crossbow, the quiver and bolts, the daggers... by Oblivion, it was almost as though she'd foreseen we wouldn't stop at Nchuand-Zel.

By the time I finished, I had amassed a considerable pile of equipment onto her table, hoping it wouldn't tumble right on her head and kill her. It would be a merciful way to go, but right now I could do with the company.

Why was I caring so much about her comfort at this point? I could have just dropped her onto the bed and done anything else but that, leaving her there and partaking in some more productive activity until she awoke. Perhaps I wanted her to open her eyes and not feel excessively wretched. She would be of no use to anyone if she couldn't move from the pain, in addition to the emotional and psychic shock.

At any rate, I could put her from my thoughts for a while since she wasn't in any immediate danger. Which brought me to more urgent matters.

I was itching, both metaphorically and literally, to get out of my armor. Now that I could sit on a bed and kick back for a while, every hurt that I may be suffering from reminded me of its existence. My legs were tired, my arse was killing me, my crotch was sore, my arms were dull with cramps, my neck was stiff, as was my back, I had to crack my knuckles, my face was tired...

No, scratch that. What manner of idiot said 'my face is tired' and meant it?

Unfastening and removing every plate to then set it onto my own bedside table was neither a simple nor a quick task, but at least I didn't have any pressure. I wasn't going to find a solution for this bloody mess any time soon, why not take things slow and easy for once? I turned my back to the window slit, lest I found something unpleasant staring back, and shut out any thought or worry.

I was safe.

I had a feeling it wouldn't be a common state of mind from now on. Better savor it while it lasted.

Only when I found myself in my undergarments and my amulet did I realize I hadn't asked David for some clothes. Dammit. I wasn't too keen on letting anyone see me undressed, least of all the rotten man. I had to solve this. How?

Oh, yes, the cupboards. There had to be some clothes in there. David was roughly as tall as me and shared my same build, chances were good I would find at least a pair of pants that fit me.

I opened the one on the left and was nearly drowned by a clattering avalanche of weapons and small crates. One fell on my big toe and I had to bite down on my tongue to stifle a shout. Ah, little metal bastard... fine, I had happened upon the armory cupboard, which was of absolutely no interest to me at the moment. I threw the wood-and-steel things back inside by the armful and slammed the doors closed. When five seconds passed and it didn't explode, I went over to the next.

I had more luck with this one. There were no shirts or tunics I was familiar with, their designs were... extravagant, to say the least. Many of them were dyed in exotic and expensive colors or decorated by strange drawings on the front. They were all either unseemly or flat out garish. I'd rather avoid them and try something else, but too many of the more interesting ones had been eaten away by insects.

The only intact items of clothing that weren't either too ugly or too destroyed were a light, long-sleeved green shirt with tiny buttons, a pair of pants complete with belt, and a matching doublet (well, it looked like a doublet). Yes, the fact they were tinted lavender was a bit off-putting, but they were usable. Pulling open one of the drawers on the bottom, I also found a pair of leather shoes and black socks.

Fantastic, I had pieced together an outfit.

Wearing this was much easier than my armor, at least the order was clearer and I didn't have to throw chainmail on. Socks first, then pants, shoes to tie, shirt to button up and doublet – or thin coat, I wasn't sure what it was, exactly – which I could only keep open since it had just two buttons. Odd stylistic choice, but then again, it hadn't been punctured by insects hundreds of times and I wasn't anywhere official. It would suffice.

I had to say, rough and old though it may be, it felt good. Yes, it tickled or outright scratched the skin in places and the pants were a bit too tight around my balls, yet I convinced myself this was the best I could have chosen.

Probably because I couldn't have worn anything else in there without murdering my credibility.

Now then, what to do? Go downstairs and pester David with the thousands of questions I had ordered into a neat mental list, start exploring the house even though I hadn't been given explicit permission from the owner, or wait here an indefinite amount of time for Daro'sheeva to regain consciousness?

Humming pensively, I sat down on the soft bed which had now become mine. I could remit the first two to any other moment, but if the Khajiit opened her eyes only to see herself into yet another unknown room, alone, especially after the way she had reacted to the revelation... well, I couldn't say I was attached to her, but I wouldn't want anyone to grab a dagger and slit their wrists with me nearby.

Not one moment after I thought that, she gave a low moan and flopped onto her side, facing me in her troubled sleep. I wasn't good at interpreting Khajiit expressions, yet it wasn't hard to figure she was distressed. Brows furrowed, ears bent back like a frighted cat, lips moving soundlessly, tail flicking feebly.

Would I have to see her like that for however long it took her to open her eyes? Divines, I hoped not. Things were already depressing as they were.

When she began to throw weak kicks, I realized something was off. She hadn't been acting like this earlier, what was wrong with her? None of this had happened during the trip, with her head pressed against my greaves or in my arms, so why...

I sighed. Of course, she wanted someone close. Like a damn infant.

Wait, no. I had better things to do than babysit her and let her suck on my thumb.

All right, I technically had nothing to do, yet that didn't make me any less reluctant to... to do what? What was I supposed to do? I wasn't good with toddlers. I hated toddlers, and she was having problems a toddler usually had. Bad combination right there.

Seeing how there weren't any toys around, that left me with no other choice.

I sat down on the carpet, inhaled deeply, and placed my left hand on her forehead.

That did the trick for the both of us, I believe. She went back to being serene and quiet, and I was touching what had to be the softest fur in the world. It wasn't that long, but by Kynareth wasn't it fluffy and fleecy and fuzzy... would she mind if I petted her like a cat? She'd carve me open if she were awake, true, but she wasn't at the moment. Who knew, it might actually help her.

Cautious as though I were about to poke a troll's third eye, I closed my eyes, held my breath and scratched her behind the ears.

Her two hands gripped my forearm in a vise.

I panicked and made an attempt to tear my arm free, but then I noticed she was still asleep. She was also making this deep noise, halfway between her throat and chest, guttural but not quite a growl...

I had to suppress a laugh when the thought hit me. Gods, was she purring? She was purring! Just like an overgrown kitten. True, now I couldn't do anything besides petting her until she woke up, but at least she had stopped acting like a tormented soul and was actually being cute as a Khajiit her size should be. I simply had to embrace the idea I would have an unmovable, cramped stick for a limb when this was all over.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I had to wait. Hours? Hours, plural, more than one.

David hadn't shown up to ask how things were going and I was stuck there with a sore arm to make sure Daro'sheeva didn't have nightmares. Truth be told, that was probably for the best. Knowing myself, I wouldn't have taken kindly to him opening the door and laughing like an idiot at the scene.

After an unspecified amount of time, Daro'sheeva pushed my hand away and groaned out loud.

I hopped to my feet, helping myself with the bedside table, and shook the drowsiness out of my whole self.

She was waking up, at last. I just hoped she wouldn't tear my throat open for having taken her weapons off and having petted her. It wasn't like I had molested her or I got off to cuddling cats.

I saw her crack an eye open, then both of them went wide and she sat up with a gasp. She stared around herself, terrified and nervous, until she saw me standing at her bedside, my hands in the very convenient pockets of my new pants. I had to seem much more confident than I actually felt.

I gave her a nod of acknowledgment and refrained from sighing in relief. "You're awake."

"Where am I?" Daro'sheeva inquired, breathless. "Where are we now? Where are the others? Are you hurt? Am I hurt? Is this Skyrim? Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? What are you wearing? Do you-"

"Please, stop it and calm down." I grunted, holding out a hand as if to halt her words. Oh, wondrous. Abso-bloody-lutely wondrous. She still didn't believe we were on another world? I casually untangled my hair, careful not to rip out a handful and leave myself with a bald patch. Wonderful. "Listen, what matters now is that we're safe."

Should I tell her? Better to tell her now and avoid her discovering it on her own, she might take it much worse otherwise.

The 'tying-a-belt-to-the-chandelier-and-jumping-off-the-bed' kind of worse.

So I drew in a deep breath, one of the several I'd have to draw in tonight, and focused on the tips of my shoes. They were shiny, despite the years. "We are currently guests at David's house, since he has offered to take us in. I've been looking after you since the Vault."

Daro'sheeva processed the information for an instant, which turned into two, then five, then ten, moments in which her ears went lower and lower. Her breathing quickened, which I didn't take for a good sign, and her eyes began to water. "I-it's true then? This..." She gave an uneasy whine. "This isn't home?"

Ah, shit, she couldn't start crying right now. I get emotional around emotional people, little problem of mine. It is to be expected when one buries most of his emotions under a rational and stone cold facade to be better at solving practical problems – they tend to surface at the worst time possible.

I feigned incredible interest in the ceiling and shrugged. "Yes. We are somewhere called Vegas now."

She fell quiet as a grave. Whatever I did I couldn't look, if I looked I would have started crying as well and then that would have been extremely awkward. Then again, I couldn't just stay there ramrod-still while her whole world crumbled around her, I had to do something. Anything.

Distract her? Best course of action.

"David told me to meet him downstairs whenever you woke up, he has something to tell us." I lied through my teeth, hoping that the mention of news would take her mind off of immensely negative thoughts. She'd better not cry. The damn cat had better not do this to me after all I had done for her today. "Can you stand up? Do you want me to help you?"

I glanced down at her in time to see her sniffle and shake her head. She wiped the tears away, gulped, and lurched up to her paws. Divines, she had to be shorter than five feet. She barely reached my sternum.

A little frightened kid. She might topple any second now.

Cursing myself for what she might start thinking, I put my aching arm around her shoulders. Would that provide comfort? I hoped it would. I didn't say anything, not a great talker in these situations. Not a great talker in any situation, come to think of it. Especially in embarrassing ones that might make me appear to be flirting with a bloody lynx who couldn't stand upright and was in shock.

Daro'sheeva clutched at my chest tight – ouch, she'd pulled out her claws – and stifled a sob. Shit, I should have stayed still. I shouldn't have made this any more personal than it already was. "A-at least we... we've got e-each other, right?"

I swore under my breath. Great, now I had to say something, or I might hurt her frayed feelings even further. "That we do. Now come on, let's see what David has to tell us, eh?"

Daro'sheeva hugged me tighter and made a little noise in the back of her throat. She pushed her head against my breast and held it there. "I-I-I just... t-thank you, Felix. For... for everything."

Well... what was that expletive David used all the time?

Ah, yes: 'fuck'.

Fuck, indeed.

I just hoped she took it all as friendliness or camaraderie. She'd better. I didn't need a cat to go all puppy-eyed whenever she saw me.

We would be nothing more than friends, end of story.


	5. Hope

**\- ACE OF HEARTS -**

Never had I thought I'd find myself sniveling on and squeezing a near-total stranger dressed in something that smelled of dust and old person, all in the middle of a place so alien I couldn't even wrap my mind around it.

At the moment, however, I didn't have much of an alternative.

Gods, this was a nightmare wide awake. This time I couldn't wake up, startled and panting, only to realize I was still in an itchy bedroll or in a hard inn bed in Skyrim.

This... wasn't Skyrim, or Tamriel, or Nirn. No matter how little sense it made or how much I wished to go home, nothing I could do would bring me back. I was stuck, so far away, and the fault for being an idiot was entirely mine.

Well, not entirely-entirely, but you get the gist.

My big sister would murder me if she caught wind I'd accepted a too-good-to-be-true job that had landed me here. I'd let her kill me right on the spot if it meant going back to Tamriel. Gods-dammit, I would've died the slowest and most painful of deaths if doing so allowed me to see her again one more time, sand under my paws and moons above me.

I couldn't see her again now. I couldn't see anyone I cared about. I was on a world so impossibly far from Nirn, and I had no way to come back.

I was somewhere called North America, on the kingdom or nation of Nevada, in a spot that thank all the Gods wasn't Vault 24 but had to be Dave's house.

How did a dumb fetch quest spiral down into a vivid hallucination?

Why?

Why me? What had I done to deserve this? I'd simply accepted that contract because I was desperate to go back to Anequina. Why had I gone up North in the first place anyway? Skyrim was way too cold and inhospitable for my liking. I'd had to scrape some coin together in order to leave. I couldn't have covered the costs of the trip even by selling my ass to half of Riften, and that had never been an option in the first place.

This contract... the pay would have been more than enough to see me back to Elsweyr. For Azurah's sake, it was enough to put me on a ship to Akavir and back. Worth a shot, right?

Should have been an easy task, one where I was useless given the others' skills when it came to magic, combat, or what I took to be a mix of the two. The plan was simple: hide behind them, pretend to be good with a crossbow and done, back to the family with enough gold to buy out a village.

Enter Dwarven ruins, exit Dwarven ruins, get filthy rich.

Easy. So easy.

Somehow, I had made my way over to... to another world, lost in a steel dungeon where a weird man in a weird armor and with weird weapons had found me, seared off one of my whiskers, and... I'd passed out after that.

The revelation, the stranding, it had all come back to me the moment I'd woken up. Gods, had I been alone, I don't know what I could've done. I don't even want to think about it. So much horror, so much terror, I...

But I wasn't alone, right?

No matter how foreign the yellowish room was, how strange the beds and furniture, how odd the light, I wasn't alone. Sure, I was crying my eyes out and I was so frightened it was a miracle I hadn't pissed myself yet, but part of those tears were shed in relief.

I wasn't alone. There was a silver lining to this hell, after all.

I had a piece of home there with me, in the flesh, no matter that all my information on him were his name, the fact he was a nice guy despite his creepy face and I had no idea where he'd found those hideous purple and green clothes. He was from Tamriel, like me, that was all that mattered.

He'd looked after me, taken me with him and Dave, waited by my side until I'd regained consciousness. As long as he was around, I had hope. I clung to that hope with all my strengths, and I didn't let go for an instant.

Literally. I clung so hard to that hope that my muscles had started to ache.

I could hardly stand and he'd wrapped a long arm around my shoulders to comfort me, what else was I supposed to do? I had to be sure he wouldn't... disappear, like in a dream. No, he wasn't going to do that. He was as solid as me, he wouldn't vanish any time soon. That was all I needed.

It might have been my size and age talking, but he felt so... big, strong, calm. I couldn't let go of him and I really didn't want him to see me mewl like a kitty, so I nuzzled his ribs and locked my arms around him. I wasn't sure whether to snap my tail around or raise it up, tip curled into a hook. Maybe I should say something, maybe...

"Ah – ow – Daro'sheeva?" Felix flinched, his rich voice barely above a pained whisper. "I understand you're upset, but do you think you could sheathe your claws? You know, they – ouch – they hurt."

Claws?

Oh, claws. Of course.

Maybe I was clutching at him a little too hard.

All right, yeah, that was probably enough. Head? Clear, if woozy. Legs? A bit better. Emotions? Still not in check, but I had to look the part.

Yes, all things considered, I should be able to ease the grip a little bit.

I went from terrified kitten to scared girl, accepted his support by putting one of my arms around and over his waistline (since that was as high as I could comfortably reach), and drew in a deep breath.

I had thousands of questions and fears, but I also had somewhere to be and something to do – downstairs and talking to Dave. I'd better go for the easy and tested solution: wrestling my problems into a tiny box I would tuck away at the back of my mind and letting them corrode me from the inside out until they burned a hole right through my soul, causing my broken self to curl up in a ball and hide under the bed weeping.

I wasn't kidding anyone, that was bound to happen sooner or later.

With someone else to rely on, chances were good I wouldn't collapse while Dave told us... whatever he had to tell us and clarified what he had to do with this. That would be a good distraction, I wouldn't let it all out if I had a good distraction. I could concentrate.

"S-sorry." I half-sobbed, wiping my tears away on Felix's jacket. I was sure he wouldn't mind, not like I was blowing my nose on him or anything.

Yet.

I breathed deeply again, closed my eyes, and nodded to myself. "A-all better now. Let's... let's go."

"Glad to hear that." Felix muttered, half to himself, half to me. "Well, a bit less glad about the torn clothes and the claw marks on my back, but it's a bit late for that. By Dibella, those are going to be hard to explain..."

Despite all the shit I had been and currently was into, I giggled and punched his chest with my free hand. Gods, I'd been aching for a laugh, even if it came from a cheap dirty joke by a guy I'd barely met.

I didn't dare a reply though, I had a limited array of things I could say at the moment and I didn't trust myself to choose the less awkward one.

Neither of us spoke afterwards. I let him take me into a darker hallway with flaked paper on the walls, a soft carpet on the floor and a set of stairs at the very end.

I leaned on him all the while, both because I was afraid I'd roll straight to the lower floor if I did them on my own, and because I was feeling too vulnerable without my daggers or my crossbow. Felix must've taken them off of me to let me sleep, which was very sweet of him, but it didn't do much for my self-confidence. Being armed would've helped.

Not that I'd be of much use with them, granted, but claws and fangs paled in comparison to that piece of polished steel, with the thunderclap and the explosion and...

Let's just not think about that.

The room we entered was warm, messy and full of those weapons I dreaded. Even though some strange object glowed white, almost yellow on the ceiling, I was instantly aware of the moonlight filtering from a big window to my right, soothing my senses. With that little detail added to the picture, everything gave me an idea of comfort.

The place had to be old, lived in, worn out in the good way. This wasn't an evil monster's lair, this could've been a distant cousin's house. Sure, I had no idea what half of the furniture even was, let alone the decorations, yet that didn't change my opinion. Whosever hands we were into, they must have been good hands. Probably.

Had to stay positive.

I heard boots stomping on wooden planks from the doorframe across from us. An instant later Dave stood in the doorway, decked in his bizarre cloth armor and as rotten as I'd made him out to be. All in all, he was identical to when I'd seen him the first time. I had imagined him to make himself comfortable at home.

"Ah, there you are." He began, sporting a fetid grin and tipping his helmet in greeting. "'Bout time you two showed up, bet you've got a million questions for me. Figured I'd better be a good host and do my best to answer 'em." He clacked his tongue and pointed somewhere past my shoulder. "C'mon, sit on the couch, you must be exhausted."

Well, I in particular wasn't as exhausted as Felix might have been, but I didn't mind sitting - so we chose the least cluttered of the divans in the middle of the room. I dropped on the left cushion, which had the consistency of seasoned hardwood and nearly made me bite my own tongue off, and Felix opted for the right. Dave sat down on a padded throne opposite of us.

In his armor.

No, really, why was he still wearing it? Didn't he live here?

My frown must have shown, because he glanced down at the weird cuirass and laughed. "Oh, this? Yeah, I get that all the time, people wonder why I'm always ready for action." He rapped his knuckles on his helmet. They thudded hollowly on its matte green surface. "You never know when Fiends come a-knockin' or the NCR turns this street into a battlefield. It's a bad neighborhood, trust me."

Great, Dave had lapsed into gibberish. Again.

From what I gathered, we were somewhere dangerous, although I had no way to understand what these 'Fiends' or 'Ensee'yar' were capable of. I didn't even know what the neighborhood looked like. Were there other people like him? Normal human beings? Criminals? Some kind of army?

"Yes, I had figured as much." Felix answered, not sharing our host's humor. "Speaking of, is that why every other building here is abandoned?"

I swallowed. Abandoned? That... that didn't sound good. Maybe it was just late and this came from another one of his bad impressions. Like in Nchuand-Zel, where nothing had ambushed us in the end.

I wished we'd been ambushed now...

Dave didn't reply right away. His gaze lingered over Felix for a few instants, during which his putrid lips slowly split into a grin. He choked a giggle. "Ain't that good for you, wantin' to live a quiet life and all?"

Felix squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them, as to make sure he'd heard correctly. "Excuse me, what?"

"It's 'cause you look like this... right, you don't have comics back... wherever it is you come from." Dave mumbled, a bit disappointed. He shrugged it off in the blink of an eye. "Anyway, Kira or not, back to your question: this ain't the Strip, nor Freeside. Hell, even Westside fares better. This is Old Vegas. No walls, no defenses, no one mad enough to stay." He crossed his legs and flashed us another lopsided smile. "If you ain't a raider, a psycho or NCR military, you're either passin' through or an idiot. I've been in Old Vegas longer than anyone, been livin' here long before the Great War."

That wasn't a real answer, especially given how neither of us had ever heard of or seen any of these Ensee'yar, or Strip, or Vegas, or Freeside, or Westside. All right, this was some lawless land where bandits thrived and so the former inhabitants had left. Plenty of those back in Skyrim, nothing out of the ordinary here... but I had a bad feeling about one thing in particular. "Uh... Great War?"

"Yeah, Great War, World War Three, Mushroom War, call it whatever you wanna call it." Dave confirmed unhelpfully. After a few seconds, he raised a brow. "You know, nuclear war? Total atomic annihilation? I'm just wastin' words and you don't have a clue what I'm talking about because your technological advancements stop to what I presume to be our Middle Ages, like most fantasy settings I've read about, and so I'm not making any sense?"

"No, you are not." Felix deadpanned for the both of us. While I recovered from the barrage of insanity, he flicked his wrist and made a face like he'd chewed on a whole lemon. "Barring all the nonsense, we did have a 'Great War' some forty years back, although I doubt we are referring to the same event. Did you say... total annihilation?"

Before Dave could provide us with an explanation, a series of high-pitched barks from the other room cut him off.

I tilted my head and eyed the doorframe expectantly, ears perked up when a louder bark made itself heard.

Those sounded like puppies and their mommy. I could do with puppies right about now.

Why had Felix gone so stiff and tense? Was he afraid of dogs or something?

"Great, Rattles finally gets them to sleep, and Arthur fucks up." He sighed, massaging his temple. Seeing the difference between my expression and that of my... companion, he tittered at me. "Oh, that's right. You were out cold when Rattles introduced herself. You're in for a surprise."

"That's putting it mildly." Felix all but growled, teeth gritted and and jaw clenched. He faced me, eyes wide, and shook his head. "Those things are ungodly abominations. Do not let them near you."

I was about to ask what in Oblivion was wrong with him when dozens of little paws began to tap and scratch on the ground on their way here, hidden by Dave's armchair. Come on, those were puppies, why was he so nervous? It wasn't like they were monsters or anything, they were just tiny little dogs with fluffy fur and...

Snake heads. And tails.

Why did those puppies have snake heads and tails?

I wasn't so sure I wanted them near me any more. I hugged my knees to my chest so that all of my body would be on the divan and those things couldn't get close to me. There were five of the small ones, and a big one in tow. I didn't even know what to feel. Revulsion? Disgust? Curiosity? Fascination? Fear? Abhorrence?

What... what were they? Were they cursed? Were they Daedra? Had a Daedric Prince put them together? Had they been born this way? Were they poisonous? Why wasn't I shouting and thrashing about when they crowded around the couch and sat there, staring at me? Did they want to eat me?

"Do not make any sudden movements." Felix whispered at my side, not helping with the situation in the slightest. Why weren't they going away? I wanted them to go away. "Do not provoke them."

"Pfft, shut up, you don't know what you're talkin' about." Dave scoffed. He clacked his tongue and the big one, the... the mother, trotted to his side and let him scratch its scaly head. "They've never seen anything like her. They love her already."

Why did these creatures have to love me, of all the people in the room? Couldn't they love Dave, or Felix? Why me? Why weren't they barking or panting like puppies, or hissing like snakes? Why weren't they moving or blinking their blue dog eyes and their yellow snake eyes?

"What? Don't just sit there." Dave urged. "Get your legs down, see what happens."

I diverted my focus from the miniature spawns of Sheggorath and glowered at him. What in the name of the Moons should I do? Let them eat me alive?

"Don't!" Felix pleaded, his fingers gripping my arm. "Do not do that."

Well, on one hand, these little bastards were the most off-putting thing I had ever seen in my whole rather short existence. Felix had all the reasons to go apeshit, they were... ugly, and impossible, and dangerous, and they shouldn't exist anywhere except in bad dreams.

On the other, though... they were puppies. If Dave saw them as pets, that ought to account for something, right? I mean, he wouldn't just want me to get bitten and die from a poison that turned me inside out and made all my orifices bleed. Why'd he do that?

... Right?

While a voice at the back of my head kept on repeating 'this is crazy, stop it', I lowered my paws down to the floor.

The tiny monsters jumped on them. I shielded my eyes with my hands and shivered for one, two, three seconds.

When I didn't feel any teeth sinking into my flesh and fur, I cracked one of my lids open.

My heart melted just a teeny-weeny bit.

They were all barking and yipping and sniffing and licking and rubbing their heads against me like I was some sort of huge toy. Their tails wagged like crazy, rattling with their deadly adorable music.

That was so cute! No matter how unlovely they might look, they were still puppies.

Not as great as kitties, but I'm biased.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Dave chuckled, whereas Felix was torn between keeping as far away from the cuties as possible and shooing them off of me. I simply grinned and watched them play. "Pick one up."

All right, that particular idea wasn't thrilling me, to be honest. Especially when two of them opened their mouths and made me uncomfortably aware of their fangs, longer than any grown snake's. True, I needed to cuddle something, but... maybe I'd pass on this one.

My smile went from genuine to polite. "I think I'm fine like this."

The rotten man humphed as if to say 'your loss', then whistled sharply – a noise that was soon followed by the mother's bark. Ten dog ears and five snake heads whirled around at the sound. The puppies gave me a longing, mismatched look I reciprocated, then padded back to their mommy and sat there.

Felix sagged with relief and sank deeper into his cushion. He may or may not have been whispering a prayer.

"A'ight then." Dave smacked lips that weren't entirely there and scratched a nose that most definitely wasn't there. "What were we talkin' about now?"

Oh, right, he'd called us down here to talk, not for the puppies. Those had been an interruption. A sort of welcome one, but an interruption nonetheless. Yeah, we had asked him about... what was it again?

Shooting the fuzzy little monsters a last mistrusting gaze, Felix returned his attention to the ghoul. "This Great War of yours. Total 'atomic' annihilation, whatever that means." He folded his arms across his chest. "What is it? When was it fought? How?" He held up a forestalling hand. "In terms we may be capable of understanding, this time around."

"A'ight, gotcha, let's see..." Dave hummed thoughtfully, tapping a foot on the ground and rubbing at his jaw.

After a few seconds, he snapped his fingers and smirked in self-satisfaction. "Ah-ha, got it. What's the biggest city you got back home?"

"The Imperial City." Felix offered in a heartbeat, like the perfect little student he must have been at his... magic school or whatever. "Almost two million inhabitants officially. Three unofficially, counting the slums and the underground."

"Huh, bigger than I thought." Dave hummed. He leaned forward, set both of his feet on the ground, and propped his elbows on his lap. "Okay, picture a real big city, much more advanced than your Imperial City and much more overcrowded. We're talkin'... super overcrowded. Twelve million people all crammed up in there, livin' their lives, workin', bein' happy or depressed, all that shit I'm sure you've got where you come from as well."

I didn't like where this was going.

I really, really didn't like the premise of 'total annihilation' and these numbers. Twelve million... that could've been all of Elsweyr, or Skyrim, stuffed into a single city. How could all these people even live together? How many miles across was this city? How immense and wealthy was the empire it belonged to?

"You doin' that? Good." Dave grunted. His smile vanished. "Picture this: almost ten in the mornin'. People're workin' or comin' home from their night shifts, kids're gettin' bored at school, everyone's walkin' around and livin' their lives, the usual routine." He paused for dramatic effect. It worked on me, I scooted on the edge of my seat. "Up until official reports start comin' in: the war's begun. A big war, the biggest in the history of the world. The one everyone's been fearin' for years. Thing is, it's not a normal war, doesn't even come close."

I didn't like this, I didn't like this, I didn't like this. My throat was tight with tension. A war coming to a city that big? If it were invaded, or besieged, there would be tens of thousands of soldiers fighting to defend or capture it, millions of men and women and children fleeing somewhere safer, so many casualties... what was he trying to get at?

Besides, what did he mean when he said it didn't even come close to a normal war?

"Five minutes later, soon as the report ends and everyone either panics or thinks it's just another drill, that's when the enemy hits." Dave groused, all expression gone from his face. "One moment the city's there, the other the sky's on fire, mushroom clouds tall as mountains risin' up from the earth. Nothing's left of the streets, the buildings, or the inhabitants. It's just craters and ruins and smoke and ashes. Everyone's dead save for the few lucky bastards who were far enough from where the bombs hit - and they ain't gonna last more than a few weeks, venom in the air'll eat 'em from the inside out."

I felt my jaw drop.

Gods above, this... he was right, this wasn't a war. It was a slaughter. So much destruction and pain... for what? What would anyone have to win by erasing millions of innocent lives and their homes with them? An ultimatum? Who would fight such a war? Why?

I felt sick, the sort of sickness you can't ease by throwing up. My whole ribcage seemed to shrink and crush my heart, my lungs, my stomach.

"That's how the first strike must've gone in New York, two hundred and four years ago." Dave croaked, almost a cough. No emotion whatsoever entered his voice. "Only it wasn't just one city, it was all over the world. Thousands of cities and hundreds of nations just... gone, in the blink of an eye." He made a weak motion towards the ceiling. "Two hours was all it took to end the world. Billions of people vaporized in an instant. Forests burnin', deserts vitrified, seas boilin'. Almost all plant and animal life goes extinct, and what little remains is mutated beyond recognition. The Earth is poisoned. The skies go dark for months, and when they clear... well, this is what's left." He gestured to encompass the house, himself, and his pets. "A worldwide radioactive wasteland inhabited by freaks like me and Rattles. Nature always finds a way and all that, I guess."

No.

No, no, no, no...

I wanted to go home.

I didn't want to stay here. Anywhere but here.

This world was dead, it had... it had killed itself and twisted what little had survived.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, and my tail around my hands. My vision blurred.

This wasn't right, it was the height of folly. Everyone had gone mad. Nobody had won – nobody could win if everyone died.

It couldn't be called a war, it was suicide.

I missed home. We weren't insane back there.

I wanted to go home.

"By the Nine, this explains... shit!" Felix managed, eyes fixed on the roof and fingers through his hair. He cursed some more under his breath, then sat up straight again. "Akatosh almighty, this... Gods. No, it doesn't add up, why... why is this Vegas abandoned? There should be nothing left of it!"

"That's because it was protected." Dave explained, gesturing out of the large window to his left. "Guy called Robert House spent a lot of money on his private defenses, shot most of the bombs right outta the sky before they could hit Las Vegas – or any town in Clark County, for that matter. Part of the reason why Old Vegas is empty: without any sort of law or government, everyone went mad and plundered and raped and murdered like no tomorrow. There was no tomorrow back then. The world as we knew it had ended. No power, no water, no resources... if starvation or dehydration didn't kill you, someone more desperate or just plain crazier than you did." A disgusted sound left his throat. "The shit I've seen the first years..."

I mustered enough force to ask why, even if it came out as a husky whimper.

If Felix wouldn't because he wanted more practical information, then I would. I had to know. Millions and millions and millions of people just... gone, all they cared about gone with them, and... and big holes in the ground were all that was left.

I swallowed down the tension. "What was the whole point?"

Dave shrugged. "Fuck if I know - far as I'm concerned, there wasn't a point to begin with."

I nearly choked on my own tongue. What? All this for... for nothing? No reason at all?

"Only the higher ups mighta been able to answer you." Dave continued. "If the bombs didn't get them, then the wasteland did, or disease, or old age." He snorted, punctuating it with a sad smirk. "Shit, House might have an answer. He's some twenty years older and a hell of a lot more important than me. Had all the right connections in all the right businesses, even the government itself... he's still here in New Vegas, y'know? Reappeared one fine day and said he was the boss, backed by an army of robots. Tin cans on wheels called Securitrons. Everyone just rolled with it. He reopened the casinos, brought in tons of cash, made it safer to simply exist here in Vegas, and he's basically owned the city ever since." He folded his hands together in his lap. "Thing is, he's not the sort of guy to take visits. In fact-"

A piercing wail shattered the silence. All of Dave's little beasts began to howl with the noise.

My fur stood on edge, my tail puffed and snaked about, my whiskers vibrated. I let out a whine and made myself as small as I could on the couch, instinctively pushing against Felix.

What was it? Who was it? The Ensee'yar? The Fiends? Oh, Gods, were these raiders or a war party?

No, no, no. I didn't want to die here and be forgotten forever. I'd hoped we were safe in here, that I could relax and grieve for myself and this world without having to worry about threats. There was a wall outside, we should have been protected.

I didn't feel safe.

I wanted to go home.

" _David Di Carlo!_ " A loud voice boomed, thunderous and monotone. " _You are courteously summoned by Robert Edwin House to attend a private meeting at the Lucky 38! Step outside and come with us!_ "

"In fact, whaddaya know, he wants to see my ugly mug right about now." Dave all but snarled to himself. He climbed to his feet, grabbing three random weapons from the table and slinging them over himself. "Motherfucker's got some great timing..."

" _We are authorized to bring you to Mr. House by force!_ " The voice continued, threat seeping into its dead tone. I hated it, it was so grating and metallic. I wished it would shut up. " _Do not start any accidents and walk outside of your own volition!_ "

"Stubborn tin can fuckers." Dave cawed. He turned to me and Felix and gave us his best attempt at an apologetic glance. "Look, I'm sorry, but I've really gotta go. If I don't, they're gonna come here, see the two of you and your shit, and figure out something's goin' on. House'll be interested, and I don't wanna think about what he might do to you."

"You can't leave us here!" Felix protested, standing up, open palms spread in an incredulous gesture. "What are we going to do?"

"I dunno, Felix!" Dave hissed as he marched over to the front door. "Just... go to sleep, Rattles'll watch over the house. Ask Arthur if you need anything, he's in the kitchen."

I didn't need Rattles or this Arthur, I needed him. Couldn't he decline the invitation and stay with us? We needed answers, I needed them more than anyone. Weird though he may be, he was a decent man. Why did he have to go away so suddenly? He could have told them to get lost, it wasn't a big deal.

" _You have thirty seconds to comply!_ " The voice blared again. " _We know you are there, and we have the means to smoke you out!_ "

"GODDAMMIT, I'M COMIN', SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!" Dave roared as he nearly tore the door off of its hinges. He spared me one last look, huddled against the pillows and the backrest as I was. "Hey, uh, Dare... Shiv... cat-girl: don't worry, everything's gonna be alright. I'll be back in an hour, two hours tops. Worst case scenario, I'm back in the morning. It's not the end of the world, that's already happened." He then gave us one of his grins. "Look, I've got three simple rules for you: don't break anything, don't touch my comics, and don't fuck on the couch. That's all I'm askin' ya."

The door slammed closed with a loud thud, and he disappeared into the night.

* * *

As if responding to a drill, the snake-dog mother bent her head down low and began to usher her little ones back into the the room they'd come from. It barked twice, then started to make lower noises to her pups once she was out of sight.

I blinked at the spot Dave had just vacated, waiting for him to barge back inside any second, laughing and telling us it was all a joke.

I knew that door wasn't going to swing open again and we weren't going to see him until the morning, but... I wanted to believe that might happen. I couldn't be teased with answers only for machines to take him away.

It wasn't fair.

Nothing on this world was fair, or right, or decent.

Gods, had I left my home behind for this? Warm deserts and lush jungles for a poisoned wasteland, for miles and miles of... of graveyard and suffering and wanton devastation?

I rested my chin on my knees and gulped. I still couldn't think of a way to come back, I hadn't the faintest idea how that crystal had functioned, I couldn't do magic to whoosh myself out... I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to learn more about how many people had died here or how much pain they had been in... why did it have to be so confusing and awful?

Why couldn't things go my way once, just for once?

No, they never had, and probably never would go right for me. This was the apotheosis of bad luck. I was powerless, defenseless.

I sat straighter and let out a dry, pathetic little sob. I should be on a cart to Elsweyr right now, where my whole family would want to hear of the money I'd made – without stealing anything, no less. Everyone would be so happy, they'd party and bring skooma and moon sugar and they'd celebrate my safe return...

And now I'd die without ever seeing them again, they would look for me in Tamriel while I was forever stuck here, where everything was dead and... and maybe I...

I felt two hands gently grab the sides of my head and tilt it upwards.

I didn't protest, I wasn't strong enough to do that. I peered through the haze and into a pair of frosty blue eyes. Any other day I would've squirmed out of his reach or slapped him, now... now I lacked the strength even for that.

I didn't care. I just wanted to go home. This wasn't home, this was all a dream, it couldn't be the truth...

"Daro'sheeva, for the love of the Divines, stop crying." Felix ordered me, stern and commanding. "The only things you have done today were breaking down, falling unconscious, awakening, sobbing, holding on to me for dear life, smiling at a litter of nightmares, being desperate, and now weeping." His features and his gaze hardened, became stone and ice. "Let me be clear: if you intend to keep on bawling for the rest of the time we're stuck here, I am leaving you with those nightstalkers and that rotting man."

When he saw me shudder, his eyes softened. "Listen, we're both going through what has to be the greatest trauma of our lives, and you tearing up every time something doesn't go your way is helping absolutely no one. We should rely on each other, be strong. We are the only people from Tamriel in this Gods-forsaken world. While you can do that with me, I cannot do the same with you, not while you're in this state." The last words he all but implored, and yet his tone was decisive, almost final. "Please, for the sake of you and me both, get a bloody hold of yourself."

I... I didn't know what to say. I squeezed my eyelids shut, shook my head, and wiped the tears away.

He was right, I couldn't always... freeze in place and cry for every horrible thing this world would do or had done. It wouldn't be fair to myself, and it wouldn't be fair to him.

Gods, I wasn't the only one ripped from her world and cast into this hell, he had to be going through a lot as well. But he didn't show it, he couldn't afford to, he had to be strong.

We had to be strong, power through this all, maybe even find a way back to Nirn.

Couldn't let this world win, break us.

When he let go of me, I didn't let my eyes fall. I puffed my chest, sniffled, and gave him a faint smile. I could count myself lucky to have met up with him and not with the mute Orc or that damn Elf. They wouldn't have done even half of what he had done for me. I wasn't sure I'd have done the same for him, either. And despite all that he had saved me, brought me here.

I surprised myself when I didn't burst into tears. "Th-thank you, Felix. I... thanks. Really."

"Bah, don't mention it." Felix sighed and waved me off, looking at anything but me. Not the first time he'd done it. Why though? "At any rate, this day was rather taxing for both of us." He cupped a hand over his mouth and yawned into it. "I don't know about you, but I would rather sleep than sit here waiting for David."

Oh, yeah, Dave... tempting though it may be to brood by the entrance for hours and hours so that we wouldn't waste any time for those answers, it just wasn't feasible in our conditions.

Time I spent alone was time I spent thinking, dwelling on the past, on home, on Tamriel, on my family... if I were to try and sleep, then I wouldn't have to remember what I had left behind. Maybe I wouldn't dream, either. Only... black nothing until the morning, when my questions would be answered.

In the end, I dragged myself up to my paws. I wasn't in peak condition, but I was stronger than I had been earlier. Despite having slept for... a while, I was tired, both mentally and emotionally. I had to rest.

So I shrugged. "Sleep's good."

We went upstairs, with him in front and me at the back, clinging tight to the white-painted railing and carving a few gouges in the wood with my claws. I hoped Dave didn't mind, the stairs were old anyway. Scratch more, scratch less, not much of a difference. Maybe he wouldn't even notice.

Our room was the first on the left, still lit by the same strange thing on the ceiling that I'd seen downstairs, still an ugly shade of yellow like watered-down piss. The furniture was all there, even though I hadn't really taken stock of it earlier, busy as I'd been with the whole panicking business. I spotted the towering pile of my belongings haphazardly amassed on the squat table near my bed, and random armor pieces strewn over Felix's.

That and, well... I couldn't help but narrow my eyes on the immense object looming over my head, staring into my very soul from wherever I stood.

"Why is there a giant cat painting over our beds?" I asked Felix in a level tone.

I had mixed feelings about that thing.

On one hand, sure, it was a striped red cat and I liked cats, it was inevitable.

On the other... really, why? What was the point of a painting like that? And so realistic it was, too, almost as if I weren't frowning at a reproduction of a scene, but at an oversized cat sprawling in a massive garden on the other side of the frame. Such details and colors... it must have cost Dave a fortune to hire a painter that good.

"It was there when I brought you in, so I can assure you, it is not a joke." Felix replied as he kicked off his leather shoes with his back to me. He was in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt when he slowly straightened his spine and turned to face me. He appeared unsure. "Ah... could you please wait outside while I change myself into something more comfortable?"

Ah, oh... right, of course, we had to change clothes. To sleep. I couldn't just stand there while he got undressed, that would be inappropriate and... it would just make things very awkward for the both of us.

Well, for him, the embarrassment was relative on my part. Of course, of course I couldn't say that out loud. I'd better get out and not say anything, might worsen the situation.

I raised my hands in pardon, pulled the door by its strange round handle and closed it behind me.

What had I been thinking? Why hadn't I realized it earlier? By Jone and Jode, it was obvious. What manner of idiot went to sleep fully clothed or, worse yet, clad in leather armor?

On the bright side, that hadn't been too embarrassing. He'd only taken his shoes off. What if I had come in while he was naked? Come to think of it, maybe I wouldn't really... no, not the right time to think about these things. I'd worry about it in a week.

Wait, I'm a Khajiit. Knowing my people's ways, why was I even using the verb 'worry'?

While I contemplated my choice of words, the door creaked open and Felix shuffled outside. He was barefooted, dressed in a short-sleeved red shirt with a big yellow star on the chest and a pair of knee-length blue trousers. The clothes were full of holes and small tears, not to mention one size too large, making him look more emaciated than athletic. His arms and legs were odd, as all humans' are to a Khajiit: not hairless, but what grew there couldn't be called fur. In his case, the hairs were so blonde and thin I could barely see them.

He made a face and jabbed a thumb past his shoulder. "The right cupboard is on the far side of the room, in front of my bed. The only items of clothing stored there are for men, so I am unsure whether you will like any of them or not, but I suspect a shirt like this might cover your thighs." He scratched at the nape of his head. "I shall wait here."

I nodded my thanks and strolled inside, pushing the door closed with one paw until the lock clicked.

I battled with the straps on my tight jacket and pants, then threw them on top of my mound of stuff once I was finally free. Ah, it felt good not to wear anything every once in a while, let my skin and fur bristle and breathe a little.

Nice though it may be, I couldn't stay like that, I had to put something on for decency's sake.

More like for his idea of decency's sake, far as I knew and far as I'd been told humans could be pretty prudish.

I prowled over to the tall wardrobe and found it filled with a staggering number of shirts like Felix's, each of them more vibrant in color than the other - a few were even purple. Dave must've been rich back in the day to buy those.

I went for a plain white one that was about as elegant as a jute sack. Time and insects had eaten huge holes out of it, but none of them revealed anything improper. It almost reached down to my knees, too. A perfect fit.

All right, it was far from perfect. Considering the fact that I couldn't sleep naked since I wasn't alone, it should work as a nightgown.

Now that that was taken care of, time for me to go to sleep. I hadn't been able to focus on it earlier, but I was sure the bed was much softer than any other I had ever slept on. Odd creaking and strange shapes on the covers aside, of course.

I lay onto the side so that I wouldn't sprain my tail and finally I pulled the thin bedsheet over myself. I started to sink, which was something I'd never had to worry about before, but it could be considered comfortable. I guessed.

A series of knocks reminded me I'd forgotten Felix outside. I cleared my throat and rolled over to face the door. "Oh, right, sorry – come in!"

He spared me a peeved glance as he pressed a beige square on the wall and the room went dark. Well, for him, anyway. Moonlight seeped in from a tiny hole on the wall by Felix's bed, making all the outlines and shapes stand out in silvery gray, almost white.

Weren't the moons of a different color?

I wasn't in a pitch-black dungeon and I wasn't alone, as his curses confirmed when he tripped on something. A long creak and a quick look told me he'd made it to his own mattress and was now lying face-up, fingers intertwined on his chest.

"Goodnight, Felix." I said in a low voice. It sounded like the right thing to say, even though I doubted I'd close an eye even by accident tonight.

Felix let out a snort. "We both know we won't be able to sleep tonight."

"Yeah, you're right." I sighed out loud. The quiet and the dark... so many memories came back, memories I shouldn't focus on too hard else I wouldn't stop sobbing. They were all so far away now, the people I'd known, the places I'd seen... they might as well never have existed. I bit down on my lower lip when it quivered. "It's... is it too late to hope this is all a dream?"

"Absolutely." Felix grunted, matter-of-factly, planting the final nail into the coffin of my optimism. "My dreams are never this vivid, detailed, or creative. Or long, for that matter." He flicked a hand towards the ceiling. "Besides, I mostly do nightmares, and this doesn't fully qualify as one. So yes, this is all real."

I closed my eyes and willed away all the fond times, the hard times, even the strange times I'd had in Tamriel. No, I couldn't think about those without my heart shattering in a thousand little pieces.

All gone.

Everything, everyone had been taken away from me by a cursed crystal that glowed green and made the ground shake. What a stupid way to lose them.

I felt a tear well up in my eye, followed by another, and another.

Would I ever see them again? Would I die first?

"Although, there is something we might say about this." Felix continued. He focused on his next words for a moment, almost as if to make sure he'd chosen the right ones. "It could be worse."

"Worse?" I repeated, uncertain whether to be mad at him or simply puzzled. I couldn't even come up with a reply. Was he serious? What did he mean by that? "Felix, we're... we're so far away from home, we don't have a way back, this world is... it's dead. It killed itself with a... a useless, insane war. Life shouldn't even exist here, it's all so... wrong... how could it be worse?"

"For starters, this isn't a Plane of Oblivion, but rather another world." Felix stated naturally, as though that changed things for the better, and held out a thumb. "We are in no Prince's realm, with no hostile Daedra all around us in addition to the raiders and other possibly hostile factions and no pseudo-deity to try to annihilate us or win us over, thus giving us a bit more freedom in our movements and actions."

He stuck out his forefinger and pointed it at the roof. "Then we had someone to pick us up on our arrival, grant us a means to speak this world's language, and offer us refuge for the time being out of what I can only believe to be the kindness of his... admittedly odd and not entirely sane heart."

His middle finger waggled left and right. "Of course, as you have pointed out once you came to and I have been kind enough to remind you, we can rely on each other and don't have to fend for ourselves."

I heard his ring finger crack when he reached it in the count, and he swore under his breath. "Ouch. In any case, do not forget the classic: we're still alive and kicking. We would be able to do absolutely nothing at all if we were dead."

Finally, his little finger joined the others, showing me the silhouette of a fully spread hand. "And, last but not least, we haven't been pulled into this world by viscid black tentacles."

That was quite the list. Being positive about it or no, this situation sucked terribly and that was it, yet he did bring up some valid points. We could be in worse conditions, or not be here, period. Reminiscing would hurt like Oblivion, but... I might get used to this, one day.

They were all very wise and very true things to say, but the observation tied to the pinky was the only one to catch my attention. "Viscid black tentacles?"

"It happened to my uncle the first time he was visiting Solstheim." Felix explained with a chuckle. "He found an enormous black book deep within Nordic ruins, opened it and, what do you know, thick tentacles the color of tar tie him up and drag him into Apocrypha, the realm of Hermaeus Mora." He shook his head. "Ah, good old uncle Lucius, you can always count on his genius and the arcane accidents involving him. True, he's a bit vague when he tells this story, and he never goes into detail about what he found in there, but he did once describe the place as 'literally built out of books'."

I wasn't so sure that story was as funny as he made it out to be. Actually, that sounded terrible and very, very similar to ours. If anything, the tentacles made it a bit worse.

Still, his uncle must have gotten out at one point if he'd told of the place to Felix, or else we wouldn't be talking about this whole thing right now. "How'd he make it back?"

"Oh, that's obvious, isn't it?" Felix snickered. "He ventured forth and sought the corresponding book that would take him back to Solstheim. The other side of the door, you might say. He used to say that, when it comes to portals, there is always an entrance and..."

He trailed off after that. I was about to ask him why he'd fallen quiet all of a sudden, when I thought about the logical conclusion to the sentence.

An exit.

To go in and out of Oblivion, you need a portal that goes both ways, like my grandma had told me that her grandma, who'd been around during the Oblivion Crisis, had told her.

In our case, if those crystals were a doorway, then it stood to reason that the one in Nchuand-Zel was the entrance...

And another crystal on Earth was the exit.

"Bloody Oblivion, that's it!" Felix laughed and jumped out of bed, and I had to admit I could barely hold my enthusiasm as he paced around the room. "We simply have to look for the other crystal!"

"That's... that's great!" I exclaimed, sitting up on my bed cross-legged like a little girl. Maybe we did have a way to go back home after all! We had a solution, we had a solution, finally! I wasn't the one who could do magic though, he was, so it stood to reason he would be able to do something about it – and I'd help in any way possible if it meant seeing Nirn once more. "Where do we start?"

"Hah, easily answered, I..." Felix raised his hand to give me a clever reply, but then he let his arm slump to his side.

He leaned against the cupboard opposite my bed and sighed. He bumped his head against the wood in frustration. "I have no clue. We would have seen it if it were in Vault 24."

My excitement had entirely drained away by the time I'd slammed my face into the pillow and let out a muffled groan. Great, now we were back to square one. He'd given me one hope – among the several others – and now that one hope had been quashed without mercy by cold, hard logic. It should have been in Vault 24, but it wasn't, or else we wouldn't have been in different rooms. We were still stuck, we were still waiting for Dave to come back home, and...

Dave.

"Hey, Felix?" I called, back to sitting cross-legged, while he slowly slid down until he reached the floor. "This man Dave mentioned, House. He's older than him, and he's from before this Great War, when things were still working. He's gotta be important to own an army of machines and rule this Vegas city, right?"

"Yes, I suppose." Felix conceded, running his fingers through his hair. "Why?"

I grinned as wide as I could, my tail rising high enough to tickle my ears. "What if he knows something about these crystals, like how they work or where the other one is?"

"That is..." Felix hummed. In the blink of an eye he was back on his feet with his hands clasped together. "That is an excellent point."

"And, since Dave was invited to a meeting, that means we could also go with him the next time." I went on, but I soon remembered what the ancient man had said about us being too weird for this world and House becoming too interested for our (my) own good. "Well, you're the human, so you can go with him the next time he has to see House..."

"And subtly gauge what this House knows by listening in on their conversations, or perhaps by asking a question or two myself." Felix completed. A trickle of moonlight revealed his white teeth bared in a smile. "I have to say, that is quite brilliant."

"Aw, you're too kind." I giggled in return, both because it was just as theatrical as his reaction and because he had liked my plan. I was starting to be helpful and help him out with things. I was doing something and he'd liked it. It felt good.

"Nevertheless, good ideas or no, I do believe the time has come for us to sleep." Felix grumbled as he climbed back onto his creaking bed. "Or try, at least."

"Heh, sure." I said, dropping onto my side and closing my eyes. I wouldn't fall asleep anyway, and if I did, nightmares were bound to come – but my mood had vastly improved over the last twenty minutes or so. Maybe it was possible to get a... not a good night's, but maybe a bad night's sleep, after all. "Goodnight, Felix."

"Goodnight, Daro'sheeva." Felix replied, unconvinced of his own tiredness by the sound of it. "For what it's worth."

I closed my eyes and, for the first time since I had found myself on this world, I didn't fall to despair at the first image of Anequina. True, every memory was stab in the gut, but now I had some hope to go with it. I didn't have to cry as hard.

Maybe I could go back, after all. Maybe I could see my loved ones again. Maybe my family would cheer, and I'd finally have a story that would beat aunt La'zherra's amazing tales. Maybe I could wake up from this nightmare. Maybe not all was lost.

A sudden thought began to nag at the back of my mind.

Wait a second, speaking of lost... by Mafala, what about to the Altmer and the Orsimer? We hadn't met them wandering around the Vault and we hadn't met them here. Dave hadn't even mentioned them.

Had someone else found them? Had they made their way out of that dungeon on their own?

Not that I really cared about them, to be honest. There was something unsettling about the Orc's silence and the Elf was just a bitch. Still, they had been hired along with me and Felix, they were out there. Had things gone any different, we might be the ones lost into the desert without help.

What had happened to them?


	6. Highwaymen

**\- KING OF CLUBS -**

Onward I marched.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left...

There was nothing else other than my march. For hours I had gone on and for hours more I would go on. Precise, rhythmical, almost mechanical.

It had been so long since I had last done this, and yet I fell in step exactly as I had in Hammerfell during that cursed campaign more than forty years ago. This time, however, I didn't have the downcast chatter of my brothers-in-arms to distract me.

I was alone.

Left with nothing else to do, without a distraction of any kind, I could do little but think and see. And what I saw made me think of one thing only: death.

It was a curious thing. Yes, death comes in all shapes and forms. I, of all people, should know that.

Never had I thought it might take the form of a landscape.

This desert was the purest expression of death I had ever set my eyes upon. High above, a foreign disc of pockmarked silver shone like a wisp, its pale light turning the sand and dunes to the color of ash and ground bones. Horrid husks of rust littered the broken black road beneath my feet, some great as cairns, others small as coffins. So many leering skulls stared out at me from slits and windows and cracks... nothing was alive here.

Nothing, save for my lonesome, scarred hide.

It was only natural for me to ask a question - the question. The cursed question that should have been the first to pop into my head as I roamed a place so distant, so strange, so foreign.

Yet I couldn't bring myself to. I had no specific answer for it, and it frustrated me. I wanted a clear one. The only answers I had were negative, generic, one uncertain. I didn't really bother with it.

'Not Skyrim, not Tamriel, perhaps not even Nirn.'

Not Skyrim, of course, for the sole reason that the only sand in Skyrim rested on the shores of the frigid Sea of Ghosts, and it was plain to see not a drop of water was to be found for miles and miles around here. Besides, the cold was nowhere near as biting.

Not Tamriel, because I didn't know what this path had been carved from, what these things of rotten metal were, what manner of desert I stood on. The deserts of Hammerfell and Anequina were... different. In all regards, from the sand to the rocks to the winds. Most important of all, they weren't so dead.

Perhaps not even Nirn, for that tiny moon up above could neither be Masser nor Secunda, for the stars arranged in the heavens above were all wrong, for the odd quality of the air and wind couldn't have been farther from anything I had ever smelled or tasted.

And what could I do about it all? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

None of my past experiences had come anywhere near this. Never had I woken up under cramped vaults of steel with no trail to follow other than random guesses. Never had I wasted an eternity down in the dark to final crawl up to the open air, to the chill of the night, to this... nothingness.

Given the premises and my complete ignorance in the matter at hand, I'd had little choice.

I had begun to walk, walk wherever my feet would bring me, in whatever direction might be right – I could not be certain of anything. So I trudged and marched, with the clatter of my plates filling my ears and a tide of thoughts filling my mind.

Alone, as always...

A distant howl broke the silence, causing me to frown. That wasn't a wolf. The sound was too strong, too low, too... aggressive. Besides, as far as I remembered, wolves didn't live in the desert.

A werewolf?

I went for my axe. The gesture was ingrained so deep within me I didn't even consider the other options. My fingers gripped the hilt poking out over my right shoulder, I slowed down my march, and scanned my surroundings for any sign that would give away an apex predator's presence. Old habits die hard.

Plus, if this really were a werewolf, then I'd rather not die with my habits. Let it come closer if it dared.

Now, what was I thinking about? Ah, yes.

Loneliness.

There had been no trace of the others. Not of the Imperial, not of the Khajiit, not of the Altmer. Part of me imagined they had never left the tower, but I dismissed that as a mere delusion. They must have found a way out while I was still unconscious.

I couldn't help but grit my teeth, then shake my head in resignation. They were young... well, two of them were, at least. The Elf only looked young. I had a sneaking suspicion I'd already seen that exact same face somewhere else. It was not hard to picture that face in Hammerfell some forty years ago, on the other side of a battlefield. Then again, the Aldmeri Dominion have always boasted a high number of females in their army, so I might be mistaken.

As for the other two, young and easily scared as they were, they must have placed their own survival above all else. I couldn't imagine them to worry about a huge Orc such as me at a time like this. Perhaps they had realized I could take care of myself.

They would have been right in their assessment, too. I was big and strong. Bigger and stronger than all of them combined. I was also old, there was no hiding it.

Why would they waste their precious time with me? We didn't know each other. I couldn't remember their names, if they had ever given them to me. We had no ties other than the contract we had been hired for.

Hmph, the contract. Now that had been a complete failure. Coming from a veteran of the Great War, that really means something. We hadn't found what we were supposed to, we hadn't managed to interpret our orders correctly... by Oblivion, we weren't even on the right world to begin with. Now all I was left with was that damnable sculpture hanging from my belt, the blonde boy in blue and yellow, mocking me with its seeking gesture.

I should have thrown it away. A reminder of my foolishness.

In hindsight, since a sadistic and rather annoying side of me enjoys reflecting on how much of a fool I am, the promise of ten thousand Septims had been too good to be true. And to think that the initial thousand had made it all so convincing... either my contractor had no knowledge of this setback, or they perfectly knew this would happen.

Something cracked.

I stopped. Bones, sounded like bones. Had I stepped on one of those skeletons?

I glanced down and chuckled.

No, I hadn't stepped on anything. It had only been my knuckles popping as my grip tightened. Well, I suppose what little anger the years had left me stirred at the mention of this illusive contractor. Either an idiot, or a bastard...

Whichever the case, I'd wring their neck if I ever happened to meet them. Not because of my current condition, no. If anything, it was because I had been made fun of. Try as I might to get rid of my older habits and feelings, this one I could not – would not – let slide. I am not a joke, something a complete idiot or a backstabbing bastard can laugh at and forget moments later.

For now I would try and find civilization. That was my priority. After that was dealt with, then, and only then, came the contractor. Actively seeking them would be a waste of my fleeting time, yet if I were to stumble upon them by chance, then I...

... I'd come up with a plan on the fly, since this wasn't the right moment to think about that. I was a few decades too old to be rash, impulsive and vindictive. Brooding and puffing my chest would take me nowhere. I wasn't in a room with the one who'd hired me. I was somewhere else, lost, marching, with my right knee on the brink of acting up again and my back stiff as a stick. I didn't need my repressed rage to throw an ulcer on top of it all.

And now thunder rolled.

I lowered my head and groaned. Of all things, it had to start raining.

In the desert.

Just my luck.

No, wait, it couldn't possibly be rain. I had seen the stars but a moment ago, and a second look confirmed that things hadn't changed. The sky was crystal clear, if disturbingly alien. There wasn't a cloud in sight, let alone storm clouds.

Then where in Oblivion had that thunder come from?

There, again, Malacath knew how many miles up ahead. It was far away, as all the natural thunder I'd ever heard in my life was, only this was almost... weak. A volcano, perhaps?

Yes, of course, a volcano that rose for a handful of feet and didn't cause the slightest tremor with its monumental fury. Out of the question.

Hmm, barring those unlikely two, there weren't many convincing options to pick from. Not an earthquake for obvious reasons, not a storm and I don't even have to comment on that, not an animal's cry because it would have to be a weird animal indeed...

It stood to reason it wasn't natural, but then again, what could it be? Magic? Some powerful mage it was, doing whatever he or she was doing. With an event of this magnitude there should have been lightning as well, maybe scarlet or royal purple or even rainbow-colored. Mages tend to be overwhelmingly flashy in anything they do, they want to be seen and admired more than they want to be heard. That ruled out the magical element.

Not natural, not magical... I huffed to a halt, eyes fixed on the horizon as it roared again, meek, quiet.

I was treading on uncharted ground here, in every sense of the word. Did I really want to know what the source of that thunder was? What would I do if it were hostile? Charge headlong with an axe as old as me against some godlike entity wielding the very elements at its fingertips? I wouldn't have dreamed of that in my youth, much less now. No Orc worth his name was that stupid.

Perhaps I would do well to steer clear of that, go the other way...

I scoffed at my own idiocy. Go the other way? Where? Behind me, after I had already marched for what must have been two hours? Into the desert to the left and right of me, so I would lose all sense of time and space and die of thirst in less than a week? At this point, I'd rather keep going forward.

Maybe whatever was producing this hammering, constant noise could be reasoned with. Or maybe it was merely a local phenomenon. The Bosmer in Valenwood had their roaming trees and the Argonians in Black Marsh had their sapient trees, after all. Whoever lived here had no trees an immense resilience to headaches, it seemed.

The next crash of thunder spurred me onward. I strapped my axe to my back once more, since it could do me no good for the moment, and fell into step with the ghost of a century I had led through the Alik'r Desert one fateful night so long ago.

I would get somewhere, eventually.

Although, I wouldn't have minded reaching that somewhere before the sun rose and I began to cook inside my own battered shell like an old, green, ruminating crab.

* * *

At least another hour passed without any sign of life coming into view.

A monotonous, unchanging, dead hour of march.

The land all around me hadn't grown any livelier, whereas my calf had cramped up and my knee reminded me how seventy-two years of life took their toll on anyone, even an Orc.

The thunder had died down almost as soon as I had decided to follow in its wake. It held little importance, given how I could only go forward and was bound to meet at least a trace of its source.

The real question was when. When would anything happen?

As insane as it may sound, I was bored.

Not tired, not nostalgic, not sleepy, not furious, not fearful... none of that, no. Out here, into the unknown, where all was death and danger and mystery, I felt bored.

I sometimes wonder whether I'm slowly going senile.

Then something between the dunes bleated, and I wasn't bored anymore.

I should have turned my head, I should have simply turned my head for what had to be a mere goat... but of course some inner mechanism made sure I grabbed my axe, pivoted on my right leg with great joy of my abused joint, squared my shoulders and planted my feet wide apart as though I might be assailed by a weregoat.

Old habits really do die hard, I suppose.

Less than a mile ago the desert to my right had risen into a series of low, harsh hillocks dotted by jagged rocks, perfect to conceal whatever had produced the noise. Come to think of it, I couldn't be certain it had been a goat, who knew what passed for goats in this land of death. Bah, in any case, even if it weren't a goat, it had to be an animal akin to one.

Now, if only it were so kind as to reveal itself and assure me I wasn't imagining things, posing like a bad copy of Vengeful Malacath as I was...

With another bleat, this time more urgent, something horned and hairy leapt from the top of the hillock and bounded down its side. It jumped from crag to boulder with impossible grace despite its ungainly form, raising small plumes of dust wherever its hooves kicked. It pounced and landed with a deafening clang on one of those rusty boxes along the sides of the road. Before it could spring in my general direction it realized I was in its path, stood still, and stared at me.

I couldn't help but stare back, be it in fascination, disgust, or a strange combination of the two.

That... wasn't a goat, as sure as I wasn't an Altmer. It might have been something a Daedra had put its hands on. Everything about it was... wrong, there was no other word for that. The thick, curved horns too massive for its skinless head, the scabrous brown fur revealing wide, pulsing crimson patches, the hooves covered in skin hard as stone and sprouting what may have been atrophied toes... it was hideous. Its breath puffed and condensed about its nostrils and over its flat bared teeth, its rheumy orange eyes regarding me with the unique intensity of a hunted beast.

It was somewhere it couldn't have imagined it would end up being, it was ugly as sin, and it was faced with something it had never before seen in its life.

What a coincidence, we already had three things in common.

Despite its horrid appearance, I eased my stance a little bit. I wasn't an idiot, I knew I didn't live in a fairy tale and it wouldn't come close, lick my hand and become my friend for life – not that I wanted this abomination to be my friend in any case – and yet... call me sentimental, it didn't sit right with me to frighten it any further than it already was. I wasn't hungry, not particularly, and thus it had nothing to fear from me.

So I shouldered my axe, gave it a mock salute (to which it replied by nervously backing into the rock wall), and made to go back to my march.

Thunder cracked.

Next thing I knew I was stumbling, my axe forgotten onto the torn road, and fighting to keep my balance.

I clutched at my helmet as if to try and keep my skull from splitting in two. My ears rang loud, so loud I barely heard the goat-thing bolt and trot away, so loud my eyes began to water and blurred everything I saw, so loud my brains might have poured out of my nose, so loud the tinnitus dulled all of my older aches into torpor.

I couldn't think, I couldn't understand, I could only curse inwardly and use all of my strength not to fall down and let whatever had hit me come and finish the job.

No, I had to pull myself together. I could not die here, I was too old to be taken by surprise and too Orcish to go down without a fight.

I squeezed my eyes with enough force to still the tears, and the blotches of grays and silvers and browns I was staring at resolved themselves into the irregular landscape once more. While my sight sharpened and my hearing returned, I ground my teeth and choked down the primal thirst for blood my race had been cursed with.

What had it been? Magic? That animal? Something else?

The voices and footsteps I heard confirmed it was indeed something else. Ah, so that was what the goat-thing had been running from. People. I didn't recognize the tongue, might be a dialect. It sounded quick, rough, coarse.

With all the speed the years had left in me I bent low to grab my axe, ignoring the stab of pain that flared up between my ribs with the movement, and spun around to meet the threat.

Humans, about half a dozen, perhaps more, much shorter than me as the races of Man tend to be. I narrowed my eyes and bared my tusks in a grimace.

Highwaymen.

Three were advancing on me, dozens of feet away, clad in old leathers and wielding rusty blades, while two more carefully descended the side of the hillock and the last one stared down at me from his perch, holding a staff in both hands and pointing it straight at me. That one... I didn't recognize the item in his grip. He must have used it to attack me. He must have been the mage, the coward.

I might have once relished a chance to rip these shabby vagrants open, but that would have been long ago, and being aware that the man overseeing the field possessed some form of magic changed things.

Instead of attacking them – even though these bandit animals would've entirely deserved it – I decided to give them a closer look before either I or them made the next move.

First I took in the weapons, dull iron blades eaten away by rust or unremarkable steel rods, maybe clubs; they would bounce right off my armor, nothing to worry about there. None of them showed their faces or their eyes, cementing my initial impression of ragtag raiders. Their features and hair were concealed behind black or red scarves, steel helmets or feathered hats, painted masks or thin sheets of smoked glass. Their armor and tatters were all leather, all poorly maintained, all enriched by strips of red clothing, all ending in a skirt and all... oddly familiar, for some reason.

Where had I seen them before?

Ah, to Oblivion with it, I would have time to reminisce later. These men were hostile, that much was clear. They also popped up like mushrooms, their number had grown from six to eight by the time the last of them had set foot on the road – seven arrayed in a semicircle forty feet ahead of me and one further away surveying the battlefield, his weapon-staff aimed at me. I had no idea what that was, but I had little doubt regarding its magical nature. That made him the most dangerous member of this little party of marauders and, of course, the primary threat.

That didn't mean this had to end with me standing over their torn limbs and spilled entrails, of course. They had the certainty and savagery of numbers with them, plus the aid of a warlock, but I had decades of honed killing instinct and warfare on them... that, and I have long since come to the conclusion that conflict is hardly the best course of action.

Heresy for an Orc, for sure, but there is little glory to be found in mindless slaughter or death in battle. Their only immediate consequence isn't fame or glee, it's being branded a butcher or winding up dead. If there was a chance to salvage the situation, I would be glad to take it and spare myself the annoyance of cleaning my gear from gore and bodily fluids, at the very least.

Very slowly and calmly, I donned the most neutral expression my tusks and scars allowed me and raised my left hand in a pacifying gesture, my axe held loosely in my right. It wasn't just out of diplomacy and convenience that I did this, I truly was ready to forgive their whoreson wizard as long as they left me in peace or, Malacath willing, managed to give me some instructions on how to reach civilization and set me on my quest for Tamriel. I didn't speak their language and I was certain they didn't speak mine, but I'd be damned if I wouldn't do my best to understand them in that case.

The man in the middle of the semicircle, a bandit with a cheap red crest over his helmet, faltered for the briefest of instants. They all did, they all hesitated, they all began to murmur between themselves. Their prey was much larger than them, much more heavily armored, much older. They must have realized there was no real reason for them to be butchered like lambs over nothing.

I nodded an encouragement and dared a gentle smile. For a moment, I believed my first encounter with the people of this desert would be peaceful.

Then thunder cracked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw flame blossom from the mage's staff. My ears rang faintly, but nothing hit me this time. I felt rather than heard something buzz over my shoulder and chink against the rocks and the sand.

The other seven, heartened by their battlemage's assault, let out a war cry and charged.

I closed my eyes, pursed my lips, and sighed.

Well, it couldn't be said that I hadn't tried to avoid this.

Now they had attacked me unprovoked for the second time and, patient though I may be, that authorized me to strike back.

With a placidity that could only be described as out of place, I raised my right arm, spread my legs apart and planted my boots, left foot towards the mage. I gauged the distance, some sixty feet both up and ahead, and drew in a deep breath.

It wouldn't be too easy.

Then again, the odds were in my favor.

I exhaled and hurled my axe towards the warlock with all my might.

He'd been too caught up in fiddling with his staff to fully avoid it. I knew the blade would never hit him in the sternum as I may have wished, mine wasn't a throwing axe – and so it was with even greater surprise that I saw the hilt smash into his temple and break his neck on impact. He twirled and limply rolled down the hillock, onto the same wreck as the goat-beast had, and lay there. My axe tumbled behind him and lodged itself into the ancient metal as though it were wood.

I felt nothing. No exhilaration, no wild joy, no bloodlust. Those days were long gone. Now fights had grown duller, more planned, more certain. Less exciting, yes, but more sensed. It was all calculated and detached. It wasn't a maimed prey, it was a kill, one less foe on the field.

What mattered now was keeping alive, not spilling buckets of blood. Getting rid of the mage had been the first step in that direction.

That had left me bare-handed, true. However, seeing how the entirety of my heavy armor was covered in sharp edges and spikes and I still had an Orc's strength, the rabble wouldn't be much of a problem.

I popped a kink in my spine, cracked my knuckles, and turned to see which one of the charging idiots would be the first to fully realize the extent his mistakes.

One of them had reached farther than the others, one wearing a dirty white mask under his leather cap and swinging what seemed to be an oversized knife. He'd broken from the pack and was running towards me as if in frenzy, howling all the while.

Hmph, savage idiot. The posture was wrong, too wide and manic, his free arm was exposed and flailing in the air instead of being held to his side or to the hilt of his sword; he was probably too deep in his trance to apply his training, if he'd ever had one.

Once he was close enough, I parried his blade with my bracer and, as sparks showered my chest, I grabbed his wrist and yanked.

He let go of the shortsword with a squeal the very instant I crushed his hand and dislocated his arm. Once he was neutralized, I brought my spiked cowter down on the back of his skull.

He fell quiet. His body hardly made a sound as he crumpled to the ground.

In those four seconds it took me to murder their comrade, three of them had nearly tripped over themselves and halted, probably reconsidering the wisdom of their life choices up until now.

The remaining three, however, didn't stop coming and started hacking and stabbing and beating away at my plates like desperate animals. Their blades and cudgels did little more than scratching the surface of my armor, of course, but I had to admit their effort was commendable. No doubt they had never fought an Orc before, so I did pardon their idiocy.

The most annoying one had to be the brute of the pack, a broad ox of a man with bare arms and bulging muscles a couple of palms shorter than me. The blade he swung with both hands was rather large and imperfect, and the screeching noise it made as it scored marks on my bracer was beginning to unnerve me – so I let him swing wide, leaving his own guard open, and lashed out.

My backhander connected with his cheek, rewarding me with a satisfying crack as I shattered both his neck and the visor on his eyes.

This one made more of a ruckus when he dropped. Must have been his thick, two-handed billhook sword and the scrap metal on him making that noise.

I didn't see the gladius coming until it had already scored a gash from my cheekbone to my lip.

I instinctively stepped back, clasping a hand to the burning sting, and glared at the bastard who'd landed a hit on me. A slippery little weasel, reaching no higher than my navel, quick enough both in body and mind to lunge upwards while I was distracted. A few inches downwards and he would've slashed my throat wide open. His stance was different from the others', he never quite stopped moving, feinted his every step.

He danced away from me and stayed on the tips of his toes, waiting for my next move.

I swatted aside a blunt rod trying to stab me in the gut, dashed ahead and kicked out at the weasel. One of the perks that come with considerable height are long legs, and with long legs generally come big feet.

My foot was big enough and my leg long enough that, no matter how far back his stumpy little limbs brought him, I landed a hit square on his chest and caved his ribcage in.

He made a curious sound, halfway between a gurgle and a retch, while his own broken bones pierced his innards.

The corpse landed squarely between the three undecided bandits, who were wise enough to stay put.

Right, with the mage dealt with, three swordsmen dead and three more of them (one of whom appeared to be the leader with the red crest) surrendered, that made for... seven. Had I made a mistake in counting?

Oh, right, that left the one who'd tried to stab me with a stick.

And there he was, standing his ground and yet ready to take flight, his metal rod or cudgel pointed at me with both hands as if its mere sight would keep me at bay. I decided to bide my time with this one, I would not kill him if he gave up as his other friends already had.

Acting like I had all the time in the world I walked up to him, my plates clanking and my boots all but cracking the stone underneath, my blood shining on the left half of my face. Clenching my right hand into a fist, I took hold of the end of his blunt metal stick. Its two-pronged tip prickled the skin of my palm, fastened between the metal folds and the leather of my gauntlet so that he wouldn't dislodge it so easily.

I wanted him to look me straight in the eye, frozen with fear, as I bent it in a neat little ring and put it around his neck with a single hand.

Much to my astonishment, that didn't happen. He glanced at my gauntlet, then at his weapon, then at his own hands on the hilt. After one more second he gave me a single, triumphant laugh.

This was... new. Had I broken his mind so easily?

Only then did I notice a tiny black button on the grip.

Click.

Lightning struck me.

It was worse than lightning. Pain and flames coursed through my veins. Every single muscle in my body tensed up, every inch of my nerves caught fire. My whole body first froze in place, then began to shake and shudder in shock – and the current didn't stop. I nearly bit my tongue off.

I was a single, living cramp. I wanted to let out a moan, but I could barely breathe. My spine felt as though it might break in half, my fist clenched harder around the rod with each instant, my shoulders pressed against my ears.

It burned, it all burned. My palm may have been sizzling, smelled of cooking meat and hair...

I knew nothing else until it was over, when I couldn't hold my balance and I fell, stiff as a statue, spasming, twitching, wheezing, paralyzed by torture.

My armor crashing to the road was loud, so loud, so painful.

I... was the man with the stick another mage?

I had no idea, it hurt to think.

I couldn't focus, my mind wouldn't make the connections, it only showed me flashes of Thalmor troops casting their lightning on me in the war. This was different, it hadn't stopped.

Why? I had no idea. I could only see the wrong stars in the sky and the inside of my eyelids when I blinked.

The voices only came later, far away and yet so close. I couldn't tell when they came, only when the agony had receded to torment and I saw masks and eye-holes and glass visors staring down at me.

I couldn't even move my head, I had no control over anything. I was an old, useless wreck. I'd aged two hundred years in a handful of seconds.

I could do nothing as they spoke in their alien tongue, the sounds distorted, as they pointed at me, as they shouted, as they argued, and as they finally nodded.

Then a boot slammed into my face, and I saw nothing else.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of sobs.

That was the first detail my mind had deemed worthy of attention.

Someone was crying, a woman, close by.

Other, more diverse noises came into focus with each passing moment, both near and far: shouts, hooves beating on rock, bells ringing, screams, cries, barks and howls, cruel laughter, metal clacking and clinking, water flowing placidly.

I added a low groan to that pandemonium when I became aware of my wounds and pains, old and new alike. Heat, sunlight and sweat made each of them stand out in lurid detail. Hours must have passed since my... encounter.

I dismissed everything related to my old age, from stiff joints and aching bones to pounding brains, and made a mental inventory of what had been inflicted on me.

I recognized the cut on my cheek by its fierce pricking. A few inches away was another one, the final kick must have broken my nose. It hurt like Oblivion, and the clotted blood and mucus forced me to breathe through the mouth. That I didn't particularly mind. Imagining where I had been thrown, I was glad I couldn't smell a thing. The nerves in my right hand howled the brightest. I might have thrust it in crackling flames for all I knew... or lightning, as it were.

However, I had no memories of anything happening to my back, which was oddly exposed to the elements. It burned as though a chaurus had poured its acid all over it, and was now sticky and crusted with drying mud - more of my blood. I didn't dare touch it, it must have been scored raw.

Wherever I was, I had been dragged here for a great many yards, more than I could guess.

All in all, I had been through worse. As for similar treatments, I'd had far more than I could count, captured as I had been by the cunning Thalmor at least five times and three by those Stormcloak failures.

These new things? Added to decades of bruises, gashes, dislocations, fractures and what have you, I scarcely cared for them.

I used to relish pain, once. The more I reflect on my past, the more incredible it seems for me to have reached my age.

Heavens above, why had I enjoyed pain at one point in my life? I'd never been a masochist, that much was certain.

Then it came to me.

The scars.

I'd wanted to collect scars. They told stories, or so I had been told and had kept on telling myself for years. Yes, one of the astounding aspects of my stupidity: seeing my skin as a parchment upon which my feats of battle would recount my tale. As I had discovered with age, that wasn't quite the case, but it did come close. Their true purpose had manifested itself to me as soon as I had trudged into Skyrim over a decade back: the etchings upon my ugly green skin weren't there to tell a story, they were reminders.

Reminders to be more damn careful the next time.

Not getting lost in thought like an elderly philosopher or theologian tends to help.

Right, less getting carried away and more useful thoughts. Not a good time to be carried away if I had been taken prisoner somewhere.

Speaking of this somewhere, I was lying face down what could only be sand. Quick-witted as always, what else should I find in the desert if not sand? It chafed my skin, stuck to my hair and beard, held fast to my chest, my arms, my legs, glued itself to the new reminders and made them itch like crazy.

I had nothing to protect me... I must have been stripped of my armor to be taken here. Three hundred pounds of Orc weren't easy to carry, a hundred more of plates and axe didn't help.

They had taken everything I had on me. The idea gave me strength, it angered me, made me power through my pain. I hoped for their sake they hadn't thrown my gear away, I had forged it with my own two hands and I didn't want it to be forgotten beneath the dunes.

On the other hand, if those four bastards had taken my armor and weapon for themselves or for their pack leaders, if they had lain a single finger on them...

I'd kill them and make them suffer through it all, yes. Brutal punishment, blood, mutilation and gore. Later, this came later.

Now, instead of longing for vengeance, I should open my eyes and see where in Oblivion I actually was, alone, unarmed and naked save for a mercifully decent loincloth around my waist. At least they had left me some of my dignity.

Not that I've ever had any reason to be ashamed of what nature had endowed me with, I prided...

Oh, please. Who was I trying to impress? Myself? What was I, thirteen? What a pathetic old man I'd become. Not that the youth had been much better, anyway...

I refrained from scoffing as I pushed myself up onto my side, inhaled through gritted teeth, and sat up.

I ran a hand over my face, careful not to put too much pressure on my nose and my cut, and opened my eyes to try and piece something together.

The woman I'd heard earlier cut her sobs short with a hushed gasp. She wasn't the only one to do so, a handful more followed her example.

They weren't my immediate concern, they were off to the side; first I wanted to know where I had been taken.

The sun hung low above the horizon. It had to be early in the morning, and yet a scorching breeze had begun to blow. I was in a valley or canyon, all I could see were high cliffs and hills to the left of me, while to the right must be a river if my ears weren't deceiving me. I was sitting in what appeared to be a cage, yet open on the top.

A fence, not a cage, use the right words.

This fence, though... I didn't know what to call it, I had never seen anything like it. Metal, thin, interwoven, loose and yet strained... it reminded me of rigid chainmail, with a lozenge pattern instead of rings. The one and only door was closed with chains and locks. A cattle pen?

I felt my blood rise at the thought. I hadn't been given the respect I deserved by being given a cell, I'd been cast into a cattle pen. An animal, I was an animal to them. They, who had attacked me unprovoked, tried to strip me of my pride and dignity. Bastards.

They were the animals, not me. Yet I was the one caged, and they the ones to walk outside in their shabby armor and clothing, feigning discipline with their patrols and their ruined weapons. I had to be in an encampment of some sort, perhaps military, there were too many guards and mongrels for it to be anything else. If not a band of raiders, then a militia.

I saw wooden shacks, men clad in crimson and leather watching over the encampment from towers and rooftops, and more on foot marching, tending to dogs or rachitic cows, cleaning their blades. All of them men, human, some may have been Bretons by the skin tone, others Redguards – but not one of them was a pure Mer or Orc, not even Khajiit or Argonian. Only human bandits in identical, mismatched garb.

Some, though, were standing by other pens like mine. They beat against the chainmail fences, hooting, teasing the... the humans kept in there.

My fists clenched of their own accord. They did this to their own race?

Slavers... a band of slavers had taken me. Sons of whores ran a solid business, those pens were filled with a dozen or more women and children each, but so very few men...

As I averted my eyes from that pathetic spectacle, I caught sight of a bloodred standard flying proud in the wind over one of the watchtowers. There I finally remembered where I had seen these animals before. Of course I couldn't recognize their vests and skirts, they were too worn out, too damaged, too ancient. Of course I couldn't recognize their crimson, the shade was wrong. Of course I couldn't recognize their marching gait, it was so imprecise, so imperfect.

But that standard, red as blood, embroidered with golden thread and picturing a rearing bull... it wasn't so much the figure that I recognized. But the layout, the colors, I'd seen them a thousand times.

Only it hadn't been a bull, it had been a dragon.

The Imperial Legion.

Some part of me, the rational side that hadn't fully given in to a blind fury and a bloodthirst I had thought long dead, held me back from tearing out of my pen with my bare hands, ripping these criminals' bowels out and hanging them from their shacks and towers. They weren't Imperial soldiers, none of them wore the garb mine had worn in the Great War and the Stormcloak Rebellion – the garb we had worn – and yet they were so similar, so painfully, teasingly similar... these bastards were mocking me, insulting me, rubbing salt stones and squeezing whole lemons into the wound.

Everything I had stood for, everything I had killed for, everything I had bled for, everything my brothers and sisters had died for, that banner had embodied it all. And these... these animals unworthy of being called men took our pride, our very symbols, and defiled them? For what purpose? To put authority behind their actions as they attacked travelers and held women and children in cages? To shake fear into their foes, to legitimate their atrocities?

And I, a loyal warrior of the Empire, was to abide by this?

Now that I had risen up they stared at me, drew closer to see the freak, the beast, the Orc... cowards. Were they men, they'd have the balls to show their faces and not to hide behind their masks. No, they gazed and muttered and pointed and laughed at me while they dragged women in chains around...

I slammed my fist into the sand and hauled myself up to my feet, turned around and stomped my way over to the edge of my cage. I glared down onto their hidden eyes, teeth and tusks bared, and wished I had a chance to slay them all in this state. The spineless bastards backed down when I blew a snort, some bringing their hands to their sword hilts, other raising and pointing their wood-and-metal staffs.

Good, let them fear me. They would do well to fear me.

I heard a yelp right behind me, close... must have been the other prisoners. If I had been thrown in a cattle pen, then it stood to reason I hadn't been given an empty one.

I gave a shove to the wall of my fence, sneering as it clinked and as they went for their weapons again. No, I wouldn't escape now, not yet... but I would do so soon, when I knew more about this place, about the animals' forces. They'd better be ready for it.

So I spun to meet the other occupants of the cage, and found my rage evaporating. My expression lost all challenge, my shoulders slumped, my fingers uncurled.

Huddled before me was a... family. Three young boys, an adolescent girl, and an older woman shielding them all; only a mother would do that. They were dressed in rags, covered in filth. Their eyes were red, their faces masks of soot streaked by their tears. They smelled of fear. They were frightened, they were terrified of me. For all they knew, they had been trapped with a wild beast.

Their sight made me furious. Not because they were scared of me, no, I could understand them. To see their jailers come in at the break of dawn and throw a scarred, hulking war machine in with them... maybe the animals had hoped for me to eat them alive. The reason I nearly ground my teeth to dust and blood was another.

They all wore collars, like mangy dogs.

I felt around my neck on reflex, just to be sure I hadn't been issued one as well. Those things looked tight, too tight for those famished bodies... at least I was too big to wear one. Even then, seeing them like that, I almost wished one of those marks had been strapped on me. That woman couldn't have weighed ninety pounds, why had she been humiliated like that and I hadn't? Did the animals enjoy preying upon the weak so much? Didn't they have honor, or pride?

No, of course not. I wouldn't be here, wishing to slay them all, if they had.

I had to... what did I have to do, exactly? Provide them with comfort? Me, seventy-two years, three hundred pounds and countless scars of Orsimer? I wouldn't have been able to help them even as a fellow human being. I didn't speak their language, I couldn't understand a word of what the mother was muttering to her sons and daughter.

Even if I could, what then? Would I lie through my teeth and tell them everything would be all right? That I'd break them out of here? But what of the others? That they'd survive? Could this be called life? I wished I had been born something other than an Orc, perhaps I would have had tears to offer them. As an outcast, as a son of Malacath, I knew all too well what they felt.

There was only one thing I could swear by, and that was blood.

So I raised my open palm and waved them off, then jerked a thumb over my shoulder, towards the animals in red, and slowly closed my fingers into a fist.

I'd avenge them.

I'll never be sure if it worked. The only one without his green eyes shut in fear was a five year-old toddler, gawping at whatever feature he deemed admirable about me.

I broke eye contact when I heard orders being barked and shouted, accompanied by the cadenced steps of the animals. They were getting close, and I was certain that the object of their interest could only be one.

Said object thus cracked his knuckles, saluted the boy by holding his right fist to his heart, and faced about.

This time they looked almost professional, I had to give them that.

At least fifteen of those bastards were heading straight for my cage. Three lines of five bandits each, all equipped with a thick red helmet, a broad rectangular shield (a metal, scrabbled-on parody of what Imperial infantry carried) and either long, black batons and cudgels or treacherous steel rods like tonight's coward.

They could have saved themselves the effort and trouble by binding me in chains or ropes, and yet they hadn't. I was free to move. Unarmed and unarmored, but free.

I already had half an idea as to why they had done that, and now I had my confirmation. None of them carried anything immediately lethal, they were more concerned with defending themselves and beating me into submission. All of their comrades were gathering round to murmur, bet and watch... word of the survivors I had left must have spread. The Thalmor had done a similar thing, once.

They were testing me.

Either they wanted me to fight for them on the field of battle, or for their entertainment in an arena.

I'd rather die than do either of those, but dying would take me nowhere and would not harm them in the long run. So I would be sure to present myself in a way none of them would ever forget. I already knew I couldn't win, I could only focus on causing damage.

I brought my guard up, stood on the balls of my feet, narrowed my eyes on them.

They opened the locks, threw the chains to the ground, kicked open the entrance.

I didn't give them time to file in neatly, the second the door swung I pounced forward.

I crashed into the first line of shields, shoved them back out, made them buckle under my assault. I tore the middle one from its owner's hands and punched him in the throat, the only exposed part of him. I saw him fall, his windpipe crushed. I elbowed the man on my right in his arm and heard it snap, kicked the knee of the one on my left and felt it shatter.

Before I could deal with the second line a lance of agony and lightning struck me in the chest. My body refused to respond, my muscles paralyzed, frozen by the shock. My jaw locked so hard my gums bled.

Then a club hit me in the side of the head.

I dropped down to my knees.

Before I could try and stand again, dizzy, my wounds flaring up, my vision blurred, another bolt of lightning stabbed me in the neck. I almost broke my spine as I folded up and slammed to the dirt.

After that came the beating, the kicking, the spitting, the shouting. In my pitiful, adrenaline-fueled state I told myself I could've endured it all, I could've endured all that and more and then I'd tear them all to shreds.

Someone had the mercy to stomp his boot onto my forehead and put an end to my thoughts.


	7. Razor

**\- QUEEN OF DIAMONDS -**

Click-click-clack. Clack-click-clack. Clack-click.

I sat alone, in silence, toying with the instrument in my hands. How it folded and twirled... it was fascinating. Calming, almost.

I needed calm and patience, for I had lost them.

A butterfly knife, it was called. An apt name. It was rather gracious, despite having been crafted by a race as feral and base as humanity. And yet I enjoyed its sounds, its movements, the way the morning sun glittered on the blade.

A blade stained by the blood of a dirty little chimp, drawn by forty-two vicious stabs to the head, neck, chest, abdomen and groin, seventeen of which lethal and more than necessary inflicted after his death. Any other day I would have limited myself to snapping his spine and throwing his lifeless body away, but earlier I had been feeling rather... upset. He and his friends had been a good distraction, a way to blow off steam.

Now I admired my handiwork, cooled down in the shade, and pondered.

Click-clack-click. Clack-clack-click.

There were five corpses arrayed before me. They had made the mistake of threatening me with their grunts and hoots at a very unwise moment, one where my rationality had taken a leave and I was liable to go berserk if provoked.

Which was exactly what had happened.

All humans, all part of the same gang, all dead. Two females and three males, their names and faces so very unimportant and yet burned into my skull as though the memories were mine.

Kali and Gorgeous Sally, the two I had scorched to death, still smoking and fouling the air with the stench of roasted meat. They had screamed for a while, and quite loudly. Kali had been tall, dark-skinned and disturbingly promiscuous, whereas Sally had been known solely for her pretty face and blonde hair. Charred as they were now, their fat and skin melting and their insides sizzling, I could hardly tell them apart.

Mad-Eye and Bobby, the ones I had executed with lightning, their bones shattered by their own spasms and red patterns etched across their skin. At one point their hair had caught fire. Amusing. Mad-Eye had been a brawny beast without a real name and with a single, violet eye, while Bobby had been entirely and utterly unremarkable in anything except his skill with picking locks. The sharp edges of their bones had torn the flesh in a dozen places, most noticeably their arms and legs.

Click-clack.

Then right in front of me was none other than Bennett 'Razor' Wilson. A bald, dwarfish, scabby, ugly, ignorant, petty, vile wretch whom I had singled out as the unlikely leader and, out of the five raiders, the best source of knowledge to tap into. First I had disabled his stumpy legs with a pair of ice shivs as long and thick as my forearms, to make sure he would go nowhere. Then I had plucked anything that could be of use from his small and primitive mind: languages, nations, names, territories, paths, histories, people, points of interest, recipes, skills, events... all the useful pieces of information his malformed skull had contained.

Clack.

I had not reacted well to the news.

I believe it showed in those forty-two stabs and in the wide pool of crimson sand Razor now rested in.

Click-clack.

In hindsight, the underground complex should have been a dead giveaway. I had immediately realized that I was not standing in Nchuand-Zel. The architecture, the doors, the symbols, the sheer amount of steel in that structure told me that the Dwemer had nothing to do with any of this. A Plane of Oblivion, most likely. Whose, I had no idea, but I had been certain I would learn in due time.

The crystal... so there had been a reason for its perfection. A gateway, a portal, an entrance into another world. The presence of such a thing left a trace, for lack of a better word. It had been so in Nchuand-Zel, where I had not fully understood what we were dealing with until it was too late. I had felt nothing similar down there. Either I had been moved, or the other side of the passage was somewhere else. Where, I had yet to find out.

For now, Razor had answered my most urgent question.

The Mojave Wasteland.

So that was the name of this dead desert. The Mojave Wasteland, in the ravaged lands of America, Earth. Not a Plane of Oblivion, no. A whole new world, dominated by humans and their hideous offshoot, rotten ghouls and brutish mutants, where no Elves or Beastfolk had ever existed. A world where life was a twisted parody of Tamriel's, where weapons and technology were far more advanced than what the Dwemer had ever achieved, where no mage had ever been born and yet the Magicka in the air was as abundant as on Nirn. A world that had fallen so low as to use bottle caps and paper as coin, where society had reverted to a tribal stage, where few were strong enough to enforce any law other than the survival of the fittest. A world that refused to die, after its mad inhabitants had immolated themselves in the fires of war centuries ago.

At least, that was what Razor had gathered throughout his miserable life.

Clack-click-click. Click.

I would not spend one second more than was required of me on this ridiculous world. As of now, however, there was little I could do besides waiting. The nearest and most populous city was New Vegas, a den of sin, gambling and crime some sixty or seventy miles North of 'here', an abandoned Poseidon gas station along the side of the US-95.

This Vegas, beating heart of the region, was ruled by an elusive individual older than the Great War itself, one who might hold the answers to the my greatest questions, if he truly possessed the resources Razor imagined to be at his disposal.

A certain Mr. House, a man who must have mastered every field of human knowledge, given his age and intelligence. A man many thought to be a myth, a legend. A man everyone feared, whether they believed in his existence or not.

A man nobody had ever met in person.

Come hell or high water, I would be the first.

Click-clack.

Instead of wasting two days of my precious time marching under the desert sun in my black robes of office and sweating my skin off, however, I chose the easier route. I waited for the same thing Razor and his pack of animals did.

A convoy from the city of Dayglow, far to the South, which should pass by this gas station within the hour. A pair of self-moving behemoths called trucks and an escort on three smaller vehicles, delivering ammunition and supplies to the troops of the New California Republic stationed in the Vegas area – the army of an invading nation built on the ruins of a land to the West. The five fools had somehow believed they could take over a platoon of heavily armed and trained professionals with a pair of rifles and a handful of landmines.

I was nowhere near as stupid as them. I did not even waste my time counting the faults in that... sketch.

Clack-clack-clack.

No, I had something else in mind. If those things were as fast as Razor thought them to be, I would be exactly where I wanted to be in less than two hours. Then, after I reached New Vegas, I would seek a way to return to Tamriel and be done with the Mojave Wasteland.

Something I presumed to be what remained of my conscience piped up, an annoying little voice I had not heeded in well over eighty years. 'What of the idiotic cat, the impertinent monkey and the mute boar, Roswen,' it asked.

Well, they could rot here for the rest of eternity, for all I cared. They had done nothing for me, they had proven to be useless, and they had constantly objected to following my lead. If these were the results, let them reap what they had sowed.

Click-clack. Clack-click-click-clack.

Right now, however, I could only wait. Wait and, through masterful use of this blade, look the part.

* * *

Once I was done with my maquillage, I relaxed my jaw and sucked air in through my teeth. This new mask of mine hurt, yes, but if everything went according to plan I would have to endure the pain for a mere hour and a half. Two at worst.

Starting now, if the plume of dust rising above the horizon was any indicator.

I rapped my knuckles on the counter of the gas station, which I had been careful enough to stain with Razor's blood and my own. I had moved the bodies to strategic positions both inside and outside. The loathsome dwarf and the bloodstain he lay in would have been too much of a nuisance to cover, so I had incinerated him and glassed the sand beneath his ashes. To give the setting a more battle-scarred look, I had seared pockmarks and cracks on the façade of the building, detonated the landmines from afar, and blasted a few craters all around.

The final touches I had applied with the butterfly knife and a heavy enough stone. I had not grunted once as I worked. I had suffered worse torments across almost a century of life, this was nothing I could not heal. The payoff would be well worth it.

I peered through the broken windows and spotted small dots at the head of the dust cloud. Perfect timing.

I limped to the main entrance, halting beneath the empty doorframe. This was it, one step ahead the stage waited: the collapsed canopy and buried wrecks before me, the roasted corpse of Kali behind me, keeled over a shelf of dried oil cans and tools.

I had to enter the character.

I closed my eyes, drew in a lungful of dust and burned flesh, and counted to ten.

At three, I felt the vibrations tickle the soles of my feet. The speed and weight of those machines was enough to make the ground shake. Still, nowhere near as strong as a cavalry charge.

At seven, the tips of my ears twitched with the soldiers' shouted banter over the buzzing engines. The words were a mess of harsh syllables and obscenities I could barely comprehend, even with Razor's posthumous help. Still, nothing so foul as Orcs.

At ten, I opened my eyes and leered.

The curtains parted.

I screamed.

"HELP ME!"

When the apish call left my lips, I ran, ran as fast as my limp allowed me. Sweat salted my wounds and washed over the crimson and the dirt. Tears welled in my eyes. I bit down on the inside of my cheek and elbowed a gash on my side, and the tears fell.

Were it not for the exertion, my heart would not have rushed. Under the current circumstances, however, it had to cope with the act. It pumped and hammered in my chest as my breath quickened like a scared doe's.

"GOD, PLEASE, HELP!"

I stumbled on a piece of concrete I had not seen and tumbled to the sand. Razor-sharp grains stuck to my flesh, to my mask, to my robes. Worst of all, I stubbed my toe.

Any other time, I would have cursed so loud as to make Mara blush. This time I grabbed hold of the occasion with both of my hands and wailed, let the convoy know, let them see me and hear me and pity me.

"HELP!"

I crawled back on my feet, clutching at my right arm for pathos, and trotted past the service area, onto the sun-cracked asphalt in the middle of the road.

I dropped to my knees and faced forwards, into the open-topped jeep's ugly, square grille as it drew ever closer with blinding speed.

Now, in any half-decent playwright's work, they would become aware of me and stop or swerve to avoid me.

And if they did not, I would gladly stop them myself.

Luckily, there was no need for that. With a horrid squeal of rubber the jeep slipped, swayed and finally skidded to a halt, so close to my nose that the play turned a bit too tacky and fortuitous for my liking. The rest of the convoy slowed down and stopped behind it, amid the cries of protest and the questions of the troops.

Other than being ungainly as little else in the world and producing a grating noise halfway between a buzz and a whine, my rescue stank. It stank of hot metal, of mite-infested canvas, of rancid sweat, of humanity... and of other things I had never smelled if not through Razor's memories, such as the acrid reek of gunpowder and the metallic tang of overheated batteries. I was feeling nauseous, yet I would not let that ruin my performance.

"Goddammit Alvarez, brake sooner next time!" A male's hoarse voice shouted in the rough speech of this world. "A'ight, let's deal with this shit... Charlie team, about-turn, watch our backs with that fifty cal! Bear team, cover us! Able team, with me – Johnson, Ramirez, that means you!"

He could not have been issuing orders to the back of the convoy with his voice only, powerful though it may be. They must have had radios.

These NCR soldiers were more organized than Razor had given them credit for.

Three pairs of boots slammed down on the ground, dashed, and stopped all around me.

Metal clacked, and clacked, and clacked again.

They had cocked their rifles ready. They had me in their sights.

One false move, and I was dead.

Now the charade truly began.

I shivered and buried my face in my hands. I burst into sobs that wracked my shoulders and, were these troops Thalmor, would give me away as a terrible liar. Since humans do not pay attention to the finer details of intonation and body language, however, I was free to act as terribly as I wished and get a kick out of it as well. So I folded lower and lower until my knuckles scraped the boiling asphalt and muttered the same mantra over and over again.

"Help me, please... you've gotta help me, please..."

A decent performance, considering how lowly English was and how reluctant a proud Altmer like me could be in employing it. Grammar was not a problem, the lack of subtle movements to complement the tone made it all so disgustingly primitive. Still, the accent needed some work.

Not that they would realize the difference, of course. I may have come from a far away settlement for all they knew. The figure I presented helped draw their eyes away from the obvious flaws and painted me as a poor, wretched soul whose life had taken a turn for the worst.

My precious robes of office were reduced to tatters, marked by long gashes, stained with blood and bereft of the gold thread lining them. Beneath them it was easy to see the bruises, scratches and cuts I had inflicted on myself, like a superstitious penitent or a perverse freak.

I heard someone shift their feet behind me. He cleared his throat twice before he spoke up. "Sarge, I... I don't think she's dangerous."

I had to keep from laughing. Already? Had I been graced with one so gullible? A human male... he sounded young and hesitant, prone to grave mistakes only because he heeded his heart more than he did his brain. Better than I had hoped for.

"Already melted your heart, Johnson?" The first voice barked back. Older, rougher, mocking. Their officer, I presumed. Sarge... sergeant, low rank in the NCR military. He would be harder to convince. "Shouldn't be fallin' for that. We don't know who the fuck she is. Could be harmless, could be dangerous – hell, could be raider bait for all I know. It's probably for the best if we..."

Now was the moment.

I let my hands slide away from my face and reveal the deep, fresh wounds scored across my cheeks, chin and forehead. Those had been hard the hardest to engrave, even with the help of a piece of glass as a mirror. In the end, the more erratic they were, the better. The audience must have appreciated my efforts, I was sure.

I sniffled shakily, sat up with my back to the jeep and looked up to my left, where the sergeant stood, his rifle aimed squarely at my temple. He was a dirty middle-aged male in a dirty tan uniform and a dirty bowl-shaped helmet, identical to the one the other two troopers on the ground and the rest of the platoon on the convoy wore. Standard NCR-issue uniform, standard wood-and-metal semi-automatic rifle, standard five magazines on his belt. Nothing about him implied special training, according to Razor.

His dark eyes were harsh, but the sight of mine was enough to soften them up a little.

Now that we had made eye contact was the most delicate moment. It would take one wrong word to sell me out as suspicious, even to a human. I had to stop fooling around and act well.

So I spoke no word.

I made a show of opening my mouth and shut it closed again with a wince, as though the very act of remembering were too painful. I hugged my knees, hid myself behind them, wept softly. With red eyes I gazed at the gas station, sank my fingers into the gash on my calf and carried on crying in silence. I stared at the rusty 'Poseidon' sign as though it were the most important thing in this world, pretending to be reliving a nightmare.

In truth, the pain was twisting half of my thoughts into vicious oaths and curses.

By Peryite's festering gums, surely they would notice there was a meaning behind all this and I could relieve some of the pressure while they turned their stupid heads there?

I was on the verge of snapping and outright telling them when their sergeant finally took the hint. He scowled and faced to the right, towards the Poseidon station. I counted three seconds before his scowl deepened. Perhaps he had seen Sally's arm poking out of the yellow van.

"Something's wrong." The male grumbled as he lowered his rifle, raised a hand and pointed it towards the battleground I had crafted. "Alvarez, Ramirez, on me. Think I saw something down there. Johnson, you stay here and keep an eye on her." He gripped his weapon in both hands once again and addressed the others with a shout. "Bear team, watch our asses, we're goin' in!"

The driver dismounted, cocked his rifle, and spat on the ground. He and Ramirez followed their non-commissioned officer like the good little soldiers they were, guns at the ready and trigger fingers itching. It would not take them long to find what was left of the raiders.

Which meant I had all the time in the world to win this Johnson over.

One glance was enough to tell me I only needed a 'thank you' to domesticate this lanky ape. He was younger than I had thought, no older than twenty. Perhaps even younger, with those pimples and that wispy beard. It was plain to see how uncomfortable he was in my presence. It showed in his nervous green eyes darting left and right, in the large droplets of sweat trickling down his neck, in the awkward way he held his rifle across his chest...

Johnson knelt down next to me, nearly dropped his gun, and placed a greasy palm on my shoulder. I met his gaze with genuine surprise, which had the result of nearly throwing him in a panic. He did well to be nervous, I was barely repressing the urge to rip his arm out of its socket and beat him to death with it. How dare he touch me? "H-hey, it's all right, so... so don't worry and it's... it's gonna be all right. We'll get ya somewhere safe, okay?"

Syrabane give me strength, where do I begin? Aside from the fact that he could not comfort a healthy dog, he was holding my shoulder way too tight for any of it to be tolerable – and that without addressing the root of the problem: he was touching me. I hoped the sergeant was quick in securing that place, this boy's fingers trembled, they felt like crawling insects. Moreover, this child's breath smelled of... whatever variant of garlic they had here. The bloody gums he flashed in what he must have thought a reassuring smile confirmed my fears.

Since I could not shove him off and kick his rotting teeth out, however, I went for an uncertain twitch of my lips and a nod.

He let go of me and nodded to himself with an even broader grin. "Yeah, that's better... that's better, yeah." He focused very hard on the thin clouds over our heads before he nodded again and made vague gestures with his hands. "Look, we're just... making sure we can trust ya, it won't take the sarge long. We're going somewhere safe, once he's sure you're good we'll get ya there. So stay calm, it's... it's fine."

This idiot was contagious, seeing how I found myself nodding along. I would rather be talking to a corpse than to him. He had to be the single clumsiest and most unsure human being on the face of this war-torn Earth, not to mention stupid. How in Oblivion had he joined the army? He must have been a conscript, there was no other possible explanation for his presence here.

How much longer would I have to put up with him?

"Uh... look, I'm Steven – Steven Johnson, might'a guessed the surname." The private chuckled. Now I had a full name I had never asked him for, apparently. "You... got one?"

This went to show my immense self-restraint. Even though I was dying to slam his head into the jeep's bumper, have him shut up and stop trying to be my friend, even though his question made me suspect he had to be suffering from slight mental retardation, I had no choice but to answer. I had to. I needed him as an ally for the time being.

So I averted my eyes, tugged at my hair like the most classic of damsels in distress, and shrugged a shoulder. "I-I'm Roswen..."

No still-bleeding victim of heinous psychological and physical torture would ever behave like this, but the way he carried himself, I may have sprouted a second head and he would have nodded it off as normal. I might as well lead him on and have him on my side for as long as he could be of use to me, irritating though the ordeal may be.

"It's, eh... nice to meet ya, Roz-when." He stammered, butchering the gentle pronunciation with his coarse accent. "It's a... well, a beautiful name, if... y'know, if I say so."

I smirked for the sole reason that the thought of strangling him did cross my mind. Of course it was a beautiful name, it was Altmeri, unlike the cacophonous bundle of syllables that his simian parents had thrown together and cursed him with.

One more question and I would kill him on the spot, him and all of his companions, and to Oblivion with the consequences.

Lucky for him, the sergeant and his two mooks chose that exact moment to march out of the gas station, weapons lowered and mouths pulled into grimaces.

Johnson stood to attention and let me breathe the slightly less noxious air in peace, thank Auri-El.

The sergeant made a broad, dismissive motion as he went straight for his jeep, most certainly for the radio. I tuned out the mutters of the troops and pricked my ears to listen in.

"Charlie and Bear, the gas station is clear, everyone inside is dead." He stated flatly. "They were done in by heavy weapons. Hostiles may still be in the area, so keep your eyes peeled. Over and out."

Once that was dealt with, he jumped down from the vehicle, waved his hands around in odd gestures to address his three soldiers on the ground (a code of sorts?), and squatted near me.

I did my best not to challenge him with a smug snort, so once again low eyes, a few sniffles, dejected attitude. He had to think I was intimidated, shaken, not prone to exchanging information with him in particular.

"Lady, I've got one question for you." He said, his voice as flat as when he had spoken into the radio. I still averted my eyes, not trusting myself not to sneer. "What the fuck happened in there?"

I could not hold back any longer, I chortled.

How could a race so chaotic and unpredictable as humanity always fall into the same patterns? Come on, this was too easy. Always the same questions, they asked, always in the same order and always to the first person they met. Change an expletive or two, maybe the order of the constituents depending on the area and the dialect, but the core remained the same.

Before I gave myself away, however, I injected a vein of hysteria into it, spurred the tears, let my hands shake.

"Wh-what... what happened?" I rasped, my throat dry. I had no need to fake that, I had not drunk a drop of water in hours and I had been sweating and bleeding on top of that. I looked up, expecting him to be taken aback at least a bit, yet he was rooted in place. A tough one. "Sir, I-I... I can't, it's just... it's too much..."

The sergeant sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. I suspected he did not like dealing with civilians, and emotional ones at that. I could understand him, they tend to be either too eager or too unwilling to cooperate, but unhelpful all the same. "A'ight, let's start over. Gimme a name – you gotta have a name, right?"

I nodded with the same energy as private Johnson. "R-Roswen. My name... my name's Roswen."

"A'ight, Roz-when." He grunted, maiming my name in the same way as his underling had. He flicked his wrist to accompany his next words, jabbing a thumb towards the gas station. "Let's keep this nice and simple. Why were you in there?"

This time, I swallowed. I had to appear shaken, in shock. Basically, not like the one who had slaughtered those five without the vaguest hint of remorse. "I-I was... I was going North, wanted to see New Vegas, but... b-but then they took me and..." I put a hand to my mouth and closed my eyes as though I were suppressing a sob. "The things they said, the... God, th-the things they did..."

"So you're sayin' these gangers jumped you on the way to Vegas..." The sergeant commented, dry as sand. "Well, you can count yourself lucky it wasn't Legion."

Had it been the nation of bandit scum and animals collectively known as Caesar's Legion to find me, I would have wiped them out all the same. In fact, it might have been more satisfying, given their attitude when it came to the females of their species and their resemblance to the Imperial Legion. They were not too dissimilar, after all. A brutish mass of monkeys hell-bent on spreading out and conquering and...

The sergeant's not-so-polite cough interrupted my reverie. "Lady, let's cut to the chase. What killed those raiders?"

I refrained from giggling again. I shook my head with feigned terror and shrugged, desolate in my ignorance. "I... I don't know. I didn't see them well, I... I was hiding. Th-they were... big, s-scary, with gray armor and la-lasers... and he-helmets... didn't even talk, just... gu-gunned them down..."

It is hard to describe how much I enjoyed the alarmed expression on his face and that of the other soldiers. Razor had little knowledge of this 'Brotherhood of Steel', a quasi-religious, mysterious organization hell-bent on gathering and hoarding ancient technology. The bit I had found most interesting was the fact the NCR had waged a bloody war on them in the past that had cost them thousands of lives. The mention of an old enemy would shake the soldiers up a bit, help me get out of this damn heat and reach New Vegas quicker.

"Ma'am – Roz-when, listen to me." The sergeant demanded, inching closer to my face. His tone implied both anger and a modicum of fear. "The folks who attacked, the ones in armor... where'd they go?"

At that point, I could only shake my head again. After all, I had been hiding the whole time, so how should I know where this imaginary squad of Brotherhood soldiers had wandered off to? I threw in a shrug and stared into his eyes for good measure, looking like a beaten, abused dog.

I was tempted to whine while I was at it, but I preferred not to cross the line between pitiful and outright pathetic.

That succeeded in making them all more uneasy than they already were. The sergeant abruptly stood up, strapped his rifle to his back, and cocked his head towards me. "A'ight boys, you heard her. Since I ain't got no intention of lettin' a bunch of Knights and Paladins packin' God knows what use us as target practice, we're gettin' the fuck outta here."

Alvarez and Ramirez glanced at each other, focused back on their sergeant, and gave a grunt of assent as one.

"What about her, sir?" Johnson asked as the other two hopped back onto the jeep. "We... we can't just leave her!"

The sergeant ran his index and thumb over his eyebrows and hissed a curse to himself. He remained in that position for a couple of seconds, contemplating me and his idiotic underling in turns – me in a mix of pity and mistrust, him with unconcealed annoyance.

As for me, I waited.

I waited, calm and collected as I could be while clad in black clothes under the desert sun, sweating like a pig and bleeding like one, albeit from measly flesh wounds. No matter what he said, now that we had reached this point, I would come with them. End of story.

If he agreed, that saved me thirty seconds and a risky move.

If he did not, a sneaky Charm spell was all that I needed.

Either way, I had already won.

The older male conceded defeat and spared the private a tired glance. "A'ight, fine, help her up. She'll fit in the back with you and Ramirez." He then addressed me, halfway between peeved and sorry. "Miss Roz-when, a word of warnin': we got no first aid kit to spare, and the farthest we can take you's Tradin' Post One-Eighty-Eight. You'll have all the time in the world find yourself a doctor to patch you up and a caravan to get you to Vegas."

A minor setback, but I smiled nonetheless. Not quite the knowing, triumphant smile I would have donned, of course. I went for a more 'eternal gratitude' sort of smile. I did not thank him out loud, but I suppose my oh-so-fake expression and my half bow were enough to convince him.

Besides, if one considered the time I would have to waste in order to find a caravan and cover the remaining twenty miles between that ragtag mix of wrecks and stands and the New Vegas Strip, I could hardly thank him.

I let Johnson wrap an arm around my shoulders and lift me up. His hand did brush against my breasts and I came the closest I had been all day to caving his skull in, yes. Since following through with that action was bound to meet resistance I did not feel like annihilating, I preferred to avoid that. I would have time to punish him later on.

As it turned out, I was a couple of inches taller than both that idiot and his superior. Probably taller than anyone on the supply run.

I let him help me limp over to the side of the jeep and clamber onto the back. I sat down on the hard, uncomfortable, cramped backseat, stuck between the quiet, broad-shouldered Ramirez and the scrawny, ever-talking Johnson. I stopped paying attention to what he said and nodded at the end of his every sentence. He appeared to be content with it. In front of me were the driver, Alvarez, to the left, and the nameless sergeant to the right.

Their leader picked up a palm-sized black brick from the dashboard, brought it to his mouth and pressed a button on its side. "All vehicles, this is Able team, we are good to go! Double time it, ladies, I wanna reach the One-Eighty-Eight within the hour!" He put the radio back and glowered over his shoulder. "And Johnson, I ain't got no intention of hearin' you run your mouth the whole way to the Tradin' Post, understood?"

With that, the jeep beneath me lurched, the private fell quiet with a last 'yes sir', and I drew in a deep breath.

It was not pleasant, not in the slightest, but I had earned a moment to sit back and relax as best as my current conditions allowed me to.

That garrulous boy's silence was a marked improvement, at least.

* * *

"A'ight, ma'am, this is it. Far as we can get you."

The sergeant's announcement rocked me back to reality. I masked my appalled grimace for one of pain by clutching at my side, rose to my feet and descended onto the boiling asphalt. Accompanied by Johnson, of course, whose help I could not be brought to mind right now.

So this was the notorious Trading Post 188.

A hollowed-out armored vehicle repurposed into a checkpoint, a chain-link fence reinforced with sheet metal and sandbags, a pair of unsteady watchtowers, all manned by sweaty troopers... those marked one of the three entrances to my destination, the southern gate. I could hear the shouts of the merchants and the counter-offers of the customers, I could smell the deadly mix of meats, drinks, garbage, animals, humans and waste, I could see the small crowd of people flocking to and fro with their horrendous creatures and the gaggles of soldiers standing watch by the stalls crafted from the wreckage on the interstate.

All from here.

This was no Trading Post, this was a shantytown. By Oblivion, this place made Riften's market square look as dignified as Alinor's by comparison. Did I seriously have to set foot in there when the sergeant may have taken me to their Camp McCarran just as easily? I was still in time, after all. I could cast a Charm, appear shaken, spin a plausible lie and avoid taking this thoroughly and utterly unpleasant step in my trip.

And yet I had to set foot in there. If the sergeant brought a non-affiliated civilian to their military complex on a crucial supply run without specific instructions from his superiors, he would be interrogated, demoted or even court-martialed – which would lead his commanding officers to interrogate me in turn, and that would be quite the inconvenience for me to either escape from or go through. From where I stood, I had little choice.

This was the quickest route back to Tamriel.

Unfortunately.

I turned to the soldiers on the jeep and went for an uncertain, moved smile. I threw in a tear as well, as if they had done me a great service in dropping me at the door of this cesspit. "Thank you so much, all of you, I... I don't know how to..."

The sergeant, upright and propped against the windshield, waved me off. "No need to, ma'am. As Johnson said, couldn't just leave you there." He tipped his helmet. "Take care, Roz-when."

"And once ya get to Vegas, swing by McCarran sometime, ask of me an' the others!" Johnson added after he had climbed back on board, beaming and baring his yellowish teeth. "That's where we're stationed!"

I injected a measure of sincere amusement into my smile. There was not a chance in Oblivion I would ever enter that base for them, let alone for him in particular. I had no idea what the boy thought existed between the two of us other than unilateral disgust and loathing. I would sooner throw myself under their jeep's wheels than meet him again. If anything, I hoped they were ambushed on the way there. Razor remembered that a fierce band of drug-crazed raiders, the Fiends, had this nasty habit of mining entire streets in the ruins of the so-called Old Vegas.

Still, I supposed their survival might be beneficial. A visit would justify my presence there and make for a good ticket inside the heart of NCR operations in the area, in case things did not go well with House. In any case, I had better maintain an amiable façade.

I waved at them as Alvarez put the jeep into gear and they trundled past me, followed by the two trucks and the rest of the escort, through the parting crowds of the Trading Post and back on the way to Vegas.

Well, no point in delaying this any further.

I drew in a lungful of pestilent air, if only to breathe as little as possible once in there, and trudged inside, past the three guards and the filthy farmer arguing over his herd of tumor-ridden, two-headed cows flicking their tails and mooing by the entrance. Brahmins, they were called. What horrid abominations, affronts to nature itself... and so many of them, too.

I held my breath as I entered. Praise the Gods, I did not smell any more of the cursed cattle, of the humans milling about in their ragged clothing, of the ghouls so putrid and haunting, of the scaleless reptiles and skinned dogs hanging from rusty hooks at the butcher's shop to my right, of the occasional piece of... human waste on the side of the main road.

These savages were loud. They yelled, they laughed, they clapped their hands, they banged their fists on the metal counters, they ate and drank like beasts. The squalor was as tangible as the broken road beneath my feet. I was glad my nose would be spared of this torture, for the time being.

I disregarded the chimps gawking at me, be it for my wounds or for my beauty, and advanced as quickly as I could. Some were audacious enough to call me out or whistle, even injured as I was. Sickening, depraved things, but this was not the time nor the place to teach them a lesson.

An alley, I needed an alley between the stalls carved from ancient trailers, boxcars or vans, somewhere no male or female would shadow me and I could heal in peace. This world did not know any magic, its decadent inhabitants would go insane, flee or shoot me down if they saw me cast any spell. Worse yet, they may report me to what passed for authorities around here, and I had no intention of being hounded for the rest of my hopefully brief permanence.

As the decades had taught me, humans do not appreciate new or different things, especially new or different things that challenge their pathetic convictions and mindsets. No, I would rather find somewhere secluded, recover, and head straight for New Vegas.

While I grew more desperate for clean air, I found the perfect place. It was set between a weapons store fashioned from a broken-down flatbed trailer and a bar comprised of two caravans welded together. It seemed to be an alley curving to the left, barely as wide as my shoulders. I glanced to my left and right, made sure nobody paid me any mind, and slunk into the passageway.

I did not cover two yards in that cramped hell that I stepped on something. I had no doubt as to what it was, the wet squelch gave it away, but I preferred not to think about it. My skin was crawling enough as it was.

I went on, reached a spot that may or may not have been halfway through to the other side, and covered my mouth and nose with what was left of my gorget.

I inhaled, and gagged almost at once. The reek was fouler than any battlefield I had ever fought on, a miasma of rot and decay so powerful that my eyes began to water. Gods, the nausea... I pulled down my gorget, in case I vomited. I had to brace myself against the rust walls on either side of me, I did not trust my stomach to hold. How could anyone suffer any of this?

By Magnus, the grime, the smell... if I did not use Restoration now, I would surely poison my blood. I leaned against the wall to my left, raised my right hand and spread my fingers, palm up. I closed my eyes, steadied my breaths, grew accustomed to the irrespirable air. Each and every one of my scratches, bruises, cuts, wounds flared brighter, made me aware of the extent of the damage I had inflicted upon myself. Yes, nothing too deep, most of them would heal by themselves and not even leave a scar.

Still, there is no such thing as too much caution. I willed the Magicka in my veins and all around me to flow, to bond, to seal, to repair, to ease every little pain and ache.

A white gold glow shrouded me, warm, comforting, clean. Skin and muscle were knitted together where they had been cut, deflated where they had swollen, washed where they had been marred by blood.

In but a few moments I was whole once more, unscathed and beautiful as I had been before enacting my plan.

Alas, my robes and boots were ruined. I knew of no spell to mend anything inanimate. Ah, no matter. I would request a new set once I was back in Skyrim and I could report to my superiors.

I straightened my back, dusted my torn epaulets, and marched forth, through the rubbish, the sand, the crumpled metal and every other septic horror in this tiny alley. Now it was only a matter of getting out of here, ignoring what I had the misfortune to step on, and putting this cesspool behind me at once.

I emerged back onto another road, just as crowded as the last, with cheap truck-taverns on either side of me. I could not decide which one was worse, they were both equally dingy, with equally unseemly clients and equally revolting cooks and dishes.

To my right was the eastern gate, which would lead me further away from my objective, into Boulder City and then eventually to Hoover Dam. To my left were the underside of the still-standing overpass and, a few hundred yards ahead, the western gate.

I did not even try to mingle with the crowd, for some reason nobody dared to come within three feet of me. Not that I could rant, of course. I was grateful for not having to touch any of these scum. Again, they just stared and whistled and called as I passed, many of the males and some of the females as well.

I paid no heed to the words they spoke, meaningless, obscene, futile. I doubted they worked on the females of their own species, never mind on me, a respectable Altmer woman of my age. Go figure why they acted like this.

Caught up in my disdain as I was, I did not notice I had ended up in a pocket of free space under the overpass. There were shops both to the left and right, yes, but none in the middle, where the eroded pillars held the overpass aloft.

Everyone seemed to avoid the spot where a human child sat, dressed in the ragged remains of a uniform, surrounded by litter of all sorts. On his head was a... thing. It reminded me of a torture device, a crown of reddish brass and bolts strapped tight to his chin. His eyes stared forward, into nothingness, his face betraying no emotion.

Something about him sent chills down my spine. I could not tell what, exactly, but this street urchin gave me a sense of... wrongness. It made me uneasy, almost nervous. No ordinary child, especially not a human one, would ever behave this way. They ran and screamed and laughed and cried, they were lively and loud, this one... he was not. He may have been dead for how still he sat. No, I would do well to keep my distance, I...

I bumped into someone.

I had been so focused on that eerie little figure that I had taken my surroundings for granted. Still, I was not the only one to blame here. This human shared culpability for not noticing me and not getting out of my way.

In the time it took this beggar to grunt and put on a face, I narrowed my eyes. Its clothes were loose and worn, brown as mud, a jute sack and canvas boots confusing the silhouette, but it was plain to see the one hiding underneath was a female. She was two or three inches shorter than me, as most humans are, somewhat gracious in her blunt, apish features, and quite a bit cleaner than the other travelers around here.

Strange, her level of hygiene and her apparel did not match.

Then again, neither did mine.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" She snorted, blowing a short tuft of brown hair out of her dark eyes. She tried to scowl, but her annoyance seemed to melt away the moment she saw my face. "Or, uh, don't. Fine by me. I mean..."

"Out of my way." I hissed, uncaring of her reaction, and went around her. I refrained from placing a hand on her forehead and pushing her away. That would have been too aggressive a move for someone not to intervene.

"Hey, wait a minute!" The beggar insisted. When she realized I was not going to stop, I heard her pick up the pace and pop up by my side. "I'm sorry for the whole bumping-into-each-other thing, guess it was kind of my fault, but I didn't really notice..."

I glared down at her. She went quiet and swallowed. What did she want from me? What reason could she possibly have to dog a random stranger in a place like this? "Why are you following me?"

She took a moment to consider the answer. In the end, she shrugged a shoulder and smiled. "Because you look interesting, and you're the first interesting-looking person I've met here in a while."

I could not help but frown at her explanation. Of all the people that I may have stumbled upon, it had to be a madwoman. I shook my head, sighed and, since I could not blast her away, ignored her.

The beggar in the jute sack did not give up. "Where'd you come from? No offense, but you-"

"None of your business." I cut her off, growling. She was persistent, I had to give her that. Why was she not going away? "Now-"

"That's why I asked, my business is boring." She interrupted me. She was beginning to unnerve me. Would anyone react if I punched her? No, not a chance, I could not do that here without starting a brawl. Not a good idea with the soldiers, either. They may arrest me. "You try trading and scavenging for a living and see if you don't start nosing into other people's affairs."

I rolled my eyes at the answer she gave me. Of course, just because this human led a boring and miserable life, she had to pester me. Only a human could come up with such a cheeky answer... or maybe a Khajiit. Yes, she was quite similar to the cat foisted on me in Markarth, except for the fact she was friendly and sticky as tar, whereas that other one had radiated hostility from the get-go.

Hard to say which was worse.

"But really, you do look interesting." This beggar went on, unfazed. "I mean, you're too pale for the desert, your skin's pretty much glowing and yet you're going around in bloody tatters, and you've got pointy ears, like an _elf_."

The first two statements painted her as an assertive, if nosy, type. The third one simply puzzled me. Despite the modest size of his vocabulary, Razor had never heard that final word. Short, composed of but three sounds, new. Smooth at the edges, for a human term.

I had to know what she meant. If she had just insulted me, I would not let it stand.

I made a noise at the back of my throat, trying to make it pass for curiosity. "What's an... _elf_?"

"You know, an _elf_ – _elves_ , plural." She began, the same smirk plastered across her face. Had she been smirking the whole time? I had no idea, this was only the second or third time I had glanced back at her. "They've got a lot of things going their way, if you think about it. Tall, beautiful, wise, ancient, long-haired, pointy-eared, live for centuries, good with magic... well, they're also self-entitled dicks, think they're the best around."

I stopped dead in my tracks. We had walked for a while, we were almost to the gates, but I could not care less about that right now.

How had she figured it out? How in Oblivion did she know? Neither Razor nor I had ever heard that word in English, but it was plain to see she was referring to the Altmer. It was not possible, she should have known nothing of my race, none of us had never existed here – and yet she knew, she had traced the perfect portrait of an Altmer.

How?

No, calm, I had to stay calm. It was impossible, she could not possibly... and yet there was no denying it. What if she had heard of, seen or, better yet, met an Altmer? How had she done that? So many possibilities... I could not play it safe, not with what she may know. I had to press for answers.

The beggar took a couple of steps before she noticed I was no longer beside her. She faced about, raised a brow, and clacked her tongue. "Uh, did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"Who are you?" I asked her, slowly, curiosity gnawing away at my soul. I drew myself closer, not so close as to scare her, but close enough that I could stare into her eyes and see if she told the truth. "Where'd you come from? How'd you learn all this?"

"Wow, that got you talking." She remarked, smacking her lips, both of her brows raised. That smirk never quite left her. "Let's see... I'm Veronica, I come from a hole in the ground, and I read books in my free time. Well, I also do other things, I don't just read books." She took on a pensive air and pouted. "When I have free time, that is..."

Her name told me nothing, I had no idea what she meant with 'a hole in the ground', and I could be brought to care about what she did in her free time or how much thereof she had on her hands. She had access to sources that confirmed the existence of other Altmer in this plain of existence. And if my people had come here in the past, then there was a link, a way to come and go to Nirn - perhaps at will.

I tried to keep myself as aloof as possible and failed. I bent forwards, put my eyes on the same level as hers, held my breath in check. "There's books about elves? How many? Where?"

"Of course there are, I can't read books that don't exist." Veronica chuckled. She stepped back from me, probably because I was standing too close to her, and tilted her head. "I mean, they are hard to come by... but how'd that one word get you all worked up, anyway? Just because I said you looked like an elf? I mean, it's true. It's all there. The face, the ears, the height, the skin, you're basically... you're... you...

Veronica trailed off. Her jaw hung lower and lower. Her lips moved soundlessly. Her eyes went wide and darted across my features, too fast for me too track. Her smirk vanished, replaced by a huge, dumbfounded grin.

Gods damn it. Gods damn it all to Oblivion.

It mattered not that I had realized the extent of my stupidity and incompetence, it was already too late. I had gone too far.

For the first time in decades I, Roswen Daervalaris, formerly Captain and currently Inquisitor of the Aldmeri Dominion, had blown my cover. After so many investigations, missions and secret tasks carried out successfully, from high-value military targets to underground operations, I had slipped with a beggar from another world.

I had made every single mistake I had painstakingly avoided with the NCR, with the Imperial Legion, with any form of political opposition. I had been careless, stupid, I had taken the lead on a conversation and I had turned it into an interrogation. I had given away too much information by acting like a thrilled child.

Divines, I had been so... obvious.

Idiot.

"Finish the sentence and you're dead." I deadpanned, painfully aware that I was under constant watch by these depraved humans. If one realized I was not one of them, things might get... rough. I may have adopted another tone, had the situation been different, yet shame, anger, irritation, self-loathing and an imperceptible pinch of disquiet did not allow me to express myself in any other way. "Yes, you got that right, congratulations. Not another word on it. Now listen, I-"

"Can I come with you?" Veronica blurted out, eyes sparkling. She joined her arms on her chest, fingers intertwined in prayer. "Can I? Please? Pretty please with a crunchy mutfruit on top?"

I was about to pick the absolute worst Razor's plethora of curses had to offer and send her on her way with that and a well-placed kick, accompanying it all with Altmeri and Tamrielic insults, but I held back. It would be fitting, extremely so, but I could not afford to lose such an opportunity. She would not mind such a response, given her initial reaction, but I preferred not to risk it.

She had mentioned books. Knowledge, tangible knowledge. Proof of members of my race having been here. Perhaps they were chronicles, detailing how other Altmer had come to be here, or perhaps they contained instructions for me to follow, a way to come to Earth or return to Nirn. Perhaps they were mere stories, tales, but tales with a grain of truth nonetheless.

I presumed these works were not widely known. She had said so herself. None of the NCR soldiers had recognized me as an Altmer, not one of them. They had not even made a joking remark like she had at first. Then again, it did not surprise me. Human soldiers tend to be rather single-minded and ignorant, drones with just enough free will to interpret their orders and turn the tide on the field of battle.

This meant that only few people were aware of our existence here. Scholars, most likely. And yet the girl in front of me looked nothing like a scholar. Although... yes, she was too clean to be wrapped up in what could only be called a sack of potatoes. The two elements clashed. She had to be hiding something – like me, after all. Perhaps something connected to these works. She must have let that detail slip because she had believed no one in the wasteland would take her seriously. A perfect secret, one she may reveal in broad daylight with no effect.

"On one condition." I snarled. The thought of teaming up with a human was just as nightmarish as it sounded, but I had much to gain from it. Knowledge, power, a way home, an alternative to Mr. House and the NCR. "You come with me, I get to read those books."

"Deal!" Veronica exclaimed, perhaps a bit too quickly. She was... excited. Very much so. She may have started bouncing up and down if she did not calm down. "Oh, man, I can't believe it! I get to travel with an-"

A fuming glare was enough to silence her on the spot.

Good, this meant she understood the importance of keeping this a secret.

"Right, sorry, sorry." Veronica murmured, flushed. "Uh... so, where are we going?"

"New Vegas." I growled, crushing the squeak she made with another glower. "You'd better stop acting like a kid – and answering. Just shut up."

Auri-El give me strength, I had a feeling I was going to regret this. Still, if it hastened my quest for a portal to Tamriel, I would endure this and worse. I just hoped her enthusiasm abated in the meantime. Maybe I could demean her so harshly that she would get depressed on the way to New Vegas. One may dream.

Either way, we had a long way to go.

If push came to shove, I may still do what I had done with Razor and spare myself the trouble.


	8. Fischia il Vento

**\- JOKER -**

It's quiet in here.

Stale air tastes of dust and cold, old couch feels like concrete.

I'm sitting inside the Lucky 38, tackiest casino formerly on the Las and currently on the New Vegas Strip. Didn't like it before the war, sure as hell don't like it now, knowing who's in here.

Inside's not so tacky, just... sad. Cleaner than the other fine establishments around, but empty. Still. Dead. A roulette-themed mausoleum, where no mortal dared to tread. Only things I hear are the faint buzz of the AC systems, my own breathing, and the three-and-a-half-centuries-old Italian song playing on my Pip-Boy.

 _Fischia il vento e infuria la bufera  
_ _Scarpe rotte, eppur bisogna andar  
_ _A conquistare la rossa primavera  
_ _Dove sorge il sol dell'avvenir..._

" _Say, pardner, wouldja mind puttin' on somethin' more lively?_ "

"Yeah." I growl without raising my eyes from my forearm. To do what, see the barred exit doors to my right, the sealed elevator to my left, the stupid cowboy face drawn on the screen of the only Securitron around here? "Yeah I would, Victor. It's _'Fischia il vento'_ , calms me down. I sorta need it since, y'know, three of your friends knocked on my door, kindly asked me to follow 'em and dragged me all the way here about twelve hours ago." I waggle my thumb, index and middle finger to drive my point across. "Now my APC's in an underground garage, my guns in an underground depot, and I'm stuck in a hall with no exits and no cover." My ring finger joins in. "And I count four turrets on the roof."

" _A'ight compadre, just askin', doncha get all riled up._ " The tin can replies in his... no, its Wild West drawl. It was funny the first two times, now it's gotten on my nerves. " _It'd be mighty fine, havin' some Marty Robbins on. Y'know what I'm sayin'?_ "

I pinch the bridge of my nose – only part of it left – and sigh. "Listen, I appreciate the fact you dug me outta that grave in Goodsprings and brought me to Doc Mitchell – believe me, I do. However, I also don't appreciate how you've been shadowin' me ever since, how you've been programmed to talk like a goddamn cowboy, and how you don't like _'Fischia il vento'_. So please, Victor, shut up."

At least the damn thing has enough sense to shut up this time.

Yeah, that's right. I've been here for the better part of half a day. Maybe more. Couldn't have been ten or eleven at night when House's Securitrons started making noise right out of my house, and now it's almost noon.

Over twelve hours of sitting on a hard, red-and-black striped sofa and going through my emergency supply of musical OSD's. Never gotten to 'World War Two Italian partisan chants' level before. The situation is dire indeed.

People outside must be going in and out of the Strip, having fun, getting shitfaced, contemplating suicide for all the money they've lost... and here I am, locked inside a casino nobody's set foot in for centuries, waiting for House to 'be ready to receive me'.

I call bullshit.

He's just having me wait for hours on end because I didn't play by his rules and I've never gone to see him, even though Victor showing up at every corner and telling me to go meet his boss was supposed to be some sort of clue. Figured it out a bit too late.

Maybe House hopes to get me tired, maybe he wants me nice and exhausted before meeting him. A weaker prey he can toy with, like a cat.

No such luck. I'm two hundred and thirty-eight. I sleep six hours a week anyway.

Perhaps, genius of the Old World though he may be, he's just a petty son of a bitch and this is a way for him to exact revenge on me.

Yeah, that's probably it.

I shouldn't be here, not right now. I have those two to look after, the... what do I call them? Aliens? They aren't from Earth, that technically makes them aliens. True for the cat, Darey... Daroo... whatever her name is, got that one right the first time. Felix, though? Kid's a human, more human than I've been in decades. Can't call him an alien.

Since I can't come up with anything non-ominous, 'Kids' will have to do - with a capital 'K'. Fits them better than 'Outsiders' or 'Extradimentionals', anyway.

Still, if they aren't from Earth, how come they've got accents? She sounds Mexican, he sounds British. That's weird. Could be those necklaces. Figured they'd start speaking in a voice-actor-ish English, or maybe with a bit of a Southern accent since we're in Nevada. Definitely not those two.

Anyway, accents or not, it doesn't sit right with me, not being there for them. I've saved their lives, helping them's the least I can do. They must have a million questions. They're in a rotten man's house, far from home, on a world that's nuked itself back to the stone age. Only three adjectives I can use to describe someone in their situation are 'homesick', 'terrified' and 'shocked'.

I hope they're still sleeping, promised them I'd be back in the morning. I'm too late for that now. Not the best start, a broken promise.

Ding.

That sounds like the big elevator in the middle of the hall.

" _Well, guess the boss is ready to meetcha._ "

I stand corrected: that is the big elevator in the middle of the hall.

I'm nowhere near as relieved as I thought I'd be. In fact, I have to suppress a groan.

Victor's wheel and arms make a squeaky, grating noise as he moves. The robot's nimble, I've gotta give him that. Even manages to roll up the four steps leading to the elevator without a hiccup.

How can Securitrons never fall over? They're the least stable thing I've ever seen, those bastard sons of a unicycle and a fridge. At least a couple must have fallen over in these two-hundred-something years.

 _Fischia il vento e infuria la bufera  
_ _Scarpe rotte, eppur bisogna andar  
_ _A conquistare la rossa primavera  
_ _Dove sorge il sol dell'avvenir..._

When the last chord sounds, I tap the PLAY/PAUSE button on my Pip-Boy and hop to my feet. Trying not to crack my back as I make my way there, I get into the elevator with Victor. It's big enough for eight people, by the looks of it.

Securitron's so broad it takes up the space and weight of six or seven of those people.

" _Headin' on up!_ " Victor chirps, punching one of the several buttons on the panel in front of him. He's got big claws, surprised he didn't crush it.

The doors slide closed.

A moment and a whoosh later, I feel heavier.

I won't have long to think, this is the calm before the storm. I'm gonna be too focused on what House's gonna say afterwards, on how little choice I'm gonna have in the matter, on the threats he's gonna make. No better moment than now.

And right now, there's only one thing that's gotta be dealt with.

The Kids.

Why did I bring them home in the first place? To anyone else I'd have... I don't know, given directions, a ride wherever they needed, maybe some water. Didn't happen this time. How come? It wasn't Rattles, that's for damn sure. The idea that a chat with a nightstalker could change my mind is beyond ridiculous.

Besides, she's only convincing when I'm already reconsidering.

So... why? Could it be 'cause they're from somewhere else entirely, because they aren't used to the metric shitload of horrors the Wasteland can throw at you? Might be. At least local children know what they're up against, these two don't. They'd be dead in a second, eaten by deathclaws, enslaved by the Legion or torn to shreds by raiders. Wouldn't stand a single chance against guns.

Fireballs and lightning bolts are all fine and dandy until the guy in front of you shoots you dead before you can wiggle your fingers or say the magic words. Or if you plain can't see the guy you want to turn into a frog, like a sniper, or an MG nest. There ain't much you can do when a bullet's splattered your brains all over the asphalt, or when a volley of fifty cal's ripped you in half.

Felix'd be smoked in an instant, they'd take the armor and the sword off of him, sell them for caps.

The cat... all too easy to imagine what they'd do to her, dead, alive or dying.

Maybe that's the reason. Might be because they're different. Chances are good they aren't mistrusting, calculating, fucked in the head or straight up evil from the get-go. Maybe they've got some values that aren't the sole biological imperative of survival. Might not be innocent, but they've gotta be fairly close to it when compared to the folks from here. There's been no nuclear war back where they're from. What I've seen in these two hundred and four years, and even before that... I hate to be an optimist, but maybe there's some hope with those two.

What about the other two? What were they, an Orc and an Elf? I forgot about them, didn't look for 'em. Big mistake on my part. What if they're just as scared as the Kids?

Alright, in all fairness, maybe that's a bit far-fetched. We're talking an Orc and an Elf here. If they're anywhere near what the Eleventh Edition's Player's Handbook makes them out to be, they can handle themselves just fine.

Scared or no, I've still gotta find them and complete that delivery. Pay's good, ten times what House oughta pay me for the Chip, not gonna-

I blink.

The Chip. The Platinum Chip.

Can't slap my forehead right now, might give myself away.

I've got it on me, don't I?

Can't pat the pouches and pockets on my vest and belt, either. That would give me away, no question.

Safe to assume that I acted like the old man I am and forgot it somewhere back home.

Ding.

Goddammit.

Victor's screen beeps and flutters as the doors slide open. " _Penthouse floor!_ "

Well, that's the end of my worries for the time being. Gotta bluff and talk business with very little leverage now.

All expression and emotion drain away from my melted features. I fill my lungs with chill, recycled air, and off I go.

First strides out onto the bone-white moquette, soft as a cloud, and I realize just how big this penthouse is. There's a staircase on either side of me, with black marble steps, ebony railings, and not a speck of dust to be seen. Counting the two half-floors, the walls have gotta be at least twenty or thirty feet high. Wallpaper's striped blood red and midnight black, carrying on with the casino's roulette wheel theme. Roof's the exact shade of creamy white as the carpet, maybe a bit brighter, what with the lit crystal chandeliers hanging off of it.

Downstairs is about the same, only broader and with expensive baroque furniture, all following the red-black-white color scheme, with a bit of green from the plastic plants thrown into the mix. I see a couple of doorways to the left and right, must lead to other rooms. There's no wall on the far end, just curved windows opening up on miles of sun-scorched ruins, burning sand and palpable misery.

All in all, it's the grandest, most opulent, and outright tackiest shit I've seen my whole life. Mr. House has got to be the least tasteful person alive on planet Earth.

Although, the platoon of Securitrons might be what's rubbing me the wrong way.

Fucking tin cans are everywhere. One on either side of the elevator, two at every door, three at the windows, more by the stairs... that sure makes for a nice welcoming committee, and nobody's been here in centuries.

Am I that much of a threat to House? Me, an unarmed old ghoul? Or is he trying to scare me into compliance, flexing his muscles by having all these robots in the same place at once, ready to back up his every syllable?

Victor's joints creak as he rolls up to me and points down. " _A'ight pardner, ya go downstairs, past the door on the left, and the boss'll be right there. I'll wait fer ya here, by the elevator. See ya when it's all done._ " A pause. " _Good luck. Ye'r gonna need it._ "

Despite the instinctive mistrust and annoyance Victor's existence stirs up in me, I nod my thanks and begin my descent. Every step I take with care, gripping the fancy wooden railing, listening to my own boots squeak in the deadly silence.

Leaves me with more time to think.

The kind of thinking that, once every couple of decades, lands me with a question I can't answer.

Why?

I see all that I'm seeing right now, the silk, the ebony, the marble, and I can't help but ask myself that question.

Why?

Why is it that this whole floor, bigger than a mansion – maybe bigger than the Old Mormon Fort – is inhabited by a single man, hidden away from the rest of the world, and all the fuckers like me got the short end of the stick?

Why is it that the only thing I've known for most of my life is pain, centuries of pain and suffering and death, of survival of the fittest, of strife, of ignorance?

Why is this bastard, this self-styled CEO of Vegas, same guy who's secured the Strip and the casinos for himself and kicked out anyone who didn't fit in his plans, drowning in luxury?

Why has he got an army of robots at his beck and call to enforce his will, and yet does absolutely nothing to defend the territories outside of his own Strip, where his precious casinos are?

Why is he living in his own bubble, far away from what I've had to deal with for two centuries, while day after day my hair and my skin and my hopes fell, while year after year I outlived everyone I have ever known, while I slowly became an immortal in a world I didn't choose?

Why?

I don't know. Doubt I ever will.

Stop asking, Dave. Nobody listens, you learned that a long time ago.

Don't even bother.

Once I'm out of steps to walk down, I aim for the door on the left.

The two Securitrons there raise their gatling lasers to block the entrance, like royal guards raising their halberds. They're probably scanning me.

This is it. I'm the first man to see Mr. House in person since the twenty-third of October of two-thousand-seventy-seven, first guy to meet him ever since the day the world ended. This is, by all accounts, a historical moment.

Why?

Because of a fucking delivery.

Is he going to apologize to me for the inconvenience of getting two nine millimeter bullets lodged into my skull?

Of course not.

I'm nothing more than a puppet in his play, a pawn on his chessboard, a tool in his hands. All because he's the one with the money and the brains, and my dignity as a human being comes much later to one like House.

If he even sees anyone other than himself as a person, that is.

The royal guards must be satisfied with the results, given how their arms fall back down their sides. They turn around, push the broad ebony doors open, and roll back to their posts.

Let's not forget the bit that irks me the most at the moment: because of this self-entitled prick, I was forced to leave the two Kids I have saved from the dangers of the wasteland alone – to leave two people who've got no clue how they've ended up into the waking nightmare that is post-nuclear Earth and want to go back to their own homes alone. I've gotta be there for them, to give them answers, to teach them how to survive, to keep them alive even though I haven't got the faintest idea who the fuck they are or why I took them in.

I shouldn't be here just because House is throwing a fit.

Walking through the doorway, I shrug to myself.

I grit my teeth and think and get mad, and then what happens?

Nothing.

Thinking doesn't help in these situations. I don't have the power to change shit, best I can do is do as I'm told. Be the puppet, the pawn, the tool.

Because the world sucks, there is no God, forty-two ain't the answer, and I'm rambling again.

Focus, Dave.

Focus.

The hall beyond is pretty much identical to the one I've just come out of, minus the stairs and plus a gigantic terminal on an upraised dais.

That thing's huge, no way around it. First thing I notice is the massive screen in the middle of it all, opaque, black as night. Then I squint at the four smaller displays on the sides, at the colored buttons, at the countless keys, at the chattering dials, at the blinking lights, at the number-spewing counters, at the buzzing wires.

What do you know, it's flanked by a couple of Securitrons. Although... these ones do look a bit different. They're polished to a sheen and I can't really spot an inch of rust on them. Not to mention, their screens aren't displaying the usual cartoony cop face.

These two are the only Securitrons I've ever seen with women's faces.

In fact, the closer I get, the surer I am I've seen those faces somewhere. A brunette and a blonde... famous actresses, maybe?

" _Say, Jane, is that the Courier House was planning on meeting today?_ " The Securitron on the right, the blonde, asks the other one as though I'm not even there. " _Why, with all the trouble he's caused, I thought he'd be more handsome. Look at him, he's... he's a zombie!_ "

" _That sure is him, Marilyn._ " The brunette confirms, making a stiff bow that I take to be a nod. " _And don't be fooled by his looks, sugar. Ugly or not, this one's dangerous – you know what he's capable of._ "

As though I haven't been through enough for today, now I've gotta deal with passive-aggressive Securitrons. With incredibly high-pitched and incredibly annoying voices, no less.

I ignore them, stand in the middle of the room, and take a look around. It's clear that these two impossibly unattractive sexbots aren't House, even though I have a feeling they know him better than anyone. Still, I hadn't been invited here to make use of their services, nor do I have any intention to. In the end, it all boils down to one thing.

I was told that I'd have a meeting with House, and he's not here.

What a surprise.

"Excuse me, ladies, could you please stop talkin' shit while I'm still in earshot and lend me a moment of your time?" I call out to the two tin cans with my best smile. "I was told your boss would be here. Now, unless these eyes o'mine have rotten some more without me noticin', I can't see him. The fuck's he at?"

" _First, you ought to learn some manners, darling._ " The blonde somehow manages to harrumph, despite the evident lack of lungs.

" _And second, he's not here, obviously._ " The brunette completes with what I assume to be a flick of a wrist. Hard to tell with a tubular arm ending in three claws, no hand to speak of and no wrist. " _He'll be with you shortly._ "

I keep on smiling, put my hands in my pockets, and think of just how much strength would be required of me to kick these two out the window. More than I possess, most likely. "Well then, looks like I'll just have to wait until His Majesty decides to show up, huh?"

" _That won't be necessary. Marilyn, Jane, if you will?_ "

The two Securitrons file out of the room without a 'sugar' or a 'darling'.

My smile falters when I hear that voice. A voice I'd heard long ago, but never in person. Only through news reports on TV. Calm, composed, commanding. The voice of a rich and powerful man, richer and more powerful than I've ever been and I ever will be. Mid-Atlantic accent helps with the impression.

Of course, House is nowhere to be seen – but something did happen. The terminal's largest screen is now displaying the glowing green portrait of that very same middle-aged man I'd seen on TV, and in impressive detail. The impeccable hairline, the deep lines on the forehead, the wrinkles sprinkled all over the stern face; the cocked eyebrow, the aristocratic mustache, the oh-so-subtle smile on his lips.

Robert Edwin House, in the flesh.

Or in the glass, as it were.

Truth be told, I was sort of expecting this to happen. Aside from the fact he's among the most important people left in the world and he runs the show both on the Strip and in what's left of Nevada, and that alone is more than enough for him to never appear in person to anyone for obvious reasons, old Bobby here is some twenty years older than me. Not hard to figure out why he isn't here.

No matter what's kept him alive this long, he's gotta be in worse shape than me. Either he's a ghoul (although that's a bit unlikely considering he disappeared inside the Lucky 38 a while before the times of ending) or he's got his brain floating around in a jar.

That, or maybe his whole body's hidden away in some secret facility, guarded by scores of superhuman warriors and preserved through technology so advanced it's nothing short of magic. A golden throne, where tech-worshiping adepts keeping him alive even though the secrets of its functioning are lost to them.

I mean, I wouldn't put it past him, knowing the guy's ego.

In any case, smart move on his side. I'd probably break his neck in a heartbeat, army of Securitrons or not.

Since that would be a bad idea for a hundred and seven different reasons, however, I have to swallow my pride, rage and hatred.

Doesn't mean I can't fuck with him.

So I tip my helmet, curl my mouth into a smirk, and proceed hook my thumbs into my belt. "Mister House! I've gotta say, if the one in the picture really is you, you haven't changed one bit." I make a vague gesture towards my face. "Some cream you're using?"

I haven't the faintest idea how that terminal works or where House is transmitting from, but the system is advanced and natural enough that I can hear him let out a sigh. " _Mister Di Carlo, let me skip the pleasantries and be very clear with you: I have always taken business negotiations very seriously. I advise you do the same._ "

"Oh, so it's just business negotiations?" I ask him, raising my eyebrows and holding a hand to my heart in a theatrical display of relief. I wonder how long it's gonna take him to snap. "Whew, that's nice to hear! Sorry if I'm a little surprised, it's just... the way your bots told me they could smoke me out and the way I had to wait twelve hours in your casino, it felt more like a mob execution than anything." I clack my tongue and stare at the ceiling. "But I mean, I'm sorta used to executions at this point. You see, couple of weeks ago-"

" _I will not apologize for your treatment, Di Carlo._ " House goes on, unfazed. His tone's still fairly arrogant and superior but, most importantly, calm. " _And don't expect me to fall for your tricks, I know far more about you than you can imagine. You are no fool, even though the unjustified delay in the Chip's delivery and the wanton massacre you wrought upon The Tops casino may lead anyone to think otherwise._ "

So he's been keeping an eye on me, as I thought.

In any case, I raise my hand and purse my bone-dry, almost non-existent lips. "'Scuse me, sir, but I've gotta correct you on that one. A massacre's generally carried out against defenseless victims and is always seen as an atrocious and unacceptable act. Now, without mentionin' their less-than-stellar track record as a tribe and the shady dealings they've got goin' on to this day, the Chairmen back at The Tops outgunned and outnumbered me." I shrug noncommittally. "I'd call it a shootout."

" _Semantics will hardly change the outcome, Di Carlo._ " House retorts. His voice is definitely flatter and curter that it was before. We're getting there. " _You charged through The Tops' entrance with your APC, fired a few warning shots into the ceiling to let the civilians escape, and then proceeded to brutally gun down every single member of the Chairmen within the premises. I possess footage of you opening fire with a light machine gun, an automatic carbine, a pump-action shotgun, a high-caliber revolver, a grenade launcher and... what I can only assume to be a BB gun._ "

I start chuckling like an idiot. He's got great cameras around the Strip and the casinos, gotta give him that – even caught the BB gun. "Had to try it, I always wanted an Abilene Kid Limited Edition."

" _Satisfied with the results, you climbed back onto your APC, reversed out of the casino, and drove away._ " House drones on, relentless. It's almost as if he both loves and hates listing everything I got wrong. " _You have murdered a great many of my employees and undermined the structural integrity of the building itself. You have effectively destroyed one of my main sources of income on the Strip, Di Carlo._ "

"That's a shame." I hum out, scratching a patch of bone on my chin. I would pick my nose if that sole action could convey how little I cared, but doing that without a nose means putting my fingers inside my skull, and that plain freaks me out. "Problem is, they kinda had it comin'. Couldn't trust anyone in there. Their boss tried to kill me, and he had help."

" _Which brings us to the most important matter: Benny._ " House picks up and continues. Don't know if he can, and don't know if it makes sense for me to think this, but it sounds like he's frowning. " _His body was found inside a large vase, and in a rather poor state. I'll spare you the details, since you were the one to execute him in the first place, but one thing in particular was brought to my attention._ "

A pause.

Tone implies I should go on, so I do. "He had his precious handgun shoved so far down his throat that I had to cut his tongue out and break his jaw off to make it fit?"

House makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a politely disgusted cough. " _The Chip was missing. The Platinum Chip. The very same item he stole from you and which, had you not been blinded by your quest for vengeance, would have been your first priority - it was not on him._ "

Another pause.

I raise a brow and flick my wrist in an 'elaborate' kind of gesture. "So...?"

In the way of a reply, a tiny slot pops out from under the screen. It's got a palm-sized empty space on it. Oh, he's foregone fancy words and diplomacy for a simple and direct action. " _I'm willing to turn a blind eye on all of this, expensive though it may be. In fact, give me the Platinum Chip now, and I will consider paying you ten percent of the original offer, as a token of good faith._ "

"You got yourself a deal!" I exclaim, my least credible smile plastered across my ruined face.

I start patting down on the pockets on my vest. My smile vanishes, to be replaced by a frown. I check my pants next, front and back, and draw in a short, dismayed breath. Finally, I take off one of my boots, turn it upside down and shake it for good measure.

Once the charade is over, I spread my arms, spit on the ground, and slap my thigh. "Ah, shoot, must'a left it somewhere."

No answer.

Pretty sure that counts as him snapping.

If I laugh and walk away now, I lose the follow-up, and that ain't happening. So I wait, patient, still and, most important of all, biting the inside of my cheeks.

I mean, don't get me wrong, he did make some good points, like the whole 'you destroyed my business' thing, as well as the 'you failed to deliver something on time and I'm gonna go out on a leg and guess you stole it' bit.

But paying me only ten percent? That's a hundred caps. I do the groceries with a hundred caps.

Finally, after a whole minute of silence, I hear a very, very long sigh over the speakers. " _What is it that you have inside your brain, Di Carlo? Howler monkeys?_ "

"More of an ape kind of guy, to be honest." I tell him with a shrug. This is, quite possibly, the most sincere answer I have given him all day. "But I don't mind orangutans, or lemurs, or-"

" _Go and get it._ " House hisses into whatever microphone he's using, articulating every letter. " _Now._ "

"Ah, you see, that's the problem." I tut-tut him, calm as can be, and jab a thumb to my right. "You want the Chip, I can tell, but if I do go and get it then this little accident here is gonna cost me my last ten percent, and I don't like doin' things for free." I draw a circle with my index and point it to the left. "What's more, you can't kill me, 'cause you've got no clue where I left the Chip, and I'm willin' to bet you ain't gonna risk another couple of years lookin' for it." I fold my arms across my chest. "With that in mind, and without resortin' to obvious arguments or high rhetoric, convince me to bring you your Platinum Chip today."

Once again, House doesn't make a sound. He's probably muted the comms feed while he curses my name, heart and soul.

I'm having way too much fun with this.

This time, I hear the speakers click. House waits a few more seconds, then he snorts. " _Since neither the future of humanity nor the very concept of property are familiar to you, and you require a payment no matter how destructive your performance, let's try with this._ " He snorts again, amused. " _My delivery doesn't interest you? Very well. Does your other delivery, the four amulets for the 'assorted team of professionals' in Vault 24, interest you more?_ "

I roll my eyes in disappointment and shake my head. "House, I know you've been spyin' on me, you said it yourself. Pretty sure even the Fiends knows about that – guy hired me right on my doorstep, hard not to notice."

" _Of course, of course._ " House concedes. There's something I don't like about his tone, he's too... smug. " _Tell me, do the Fiends also know that the recipients you were told to rendezvous with are not of this world, but instead hail from a planet named Nirn? Or that only one of them is a human male, while the others are a High Elf female, an Orc male, and a female of a feline race known as Khajiit? Or their names? The look on your face tells me they don't. Bring me the Platinum Chip, and I will tell you more. Why they are here, or who summoned them, for example._ "


	9. Platinum Chip

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **I figure I ought to start with an apology.**

 **This chapter should have been finished and uploaded exactly two months ago, and I am only now able to publish it. As if that weren't enough, I'm afraid it's not as... 'juicy' as the previous chapter's cliffhanger and the awfully long waiting time might have otherwise suggested. Again, I'm sorry.**

 **This was entirely my fault. Nothing too dramatic or terrible, no, I'm fine. It's just that, as I've found out, university exams can take up quite a bit of time. As in, a lot. This is the main reason why I haven't been able to write, check or upload this chapter up until now, because I've taken (and passed) my last exam something like six days ago. That, and I've come back home for summer just two days ago - plane at six in the morning in a nearby town, bus was late, almost lost my flight, but now I'm here. So... things have been a bit hectic. At least my first year's over.**

 **But no more of that now. I have gotten back to it, the chapter is finally here and it's both a step forward and a sign that I'm back nonetheless.**

 **Sorry for the wait, and welcome back.**

* * *

 **\- JACK OF SPADES -**

I lay in bed, twiddling my thumbs, thinking.

As usual.

There was a little detail that made this whole scene a bit less usual, though: I wasn't in a squalid inn room in Whiterun, under a cheap wagon somewhere in Skyrim's wilderness, or in my quarters back at the family manor, a stone's throw away from Skingrad.

None of that, no.

I was in a dusty guests' room on a world that had scorched itself back to the Dawn Era.

Somehow, the idea hadn't driven me insane with hopelessness and despair. It hurt, of course. I doubted I would ever truly get used to it. And yet... I was alive. That ought to account for something.

What's more, I had slept. Wasn't that a surprise. A little, nowhere near enough, but I had slept. Staring up at the bleak yellow ceiling, my eyelids felt about as heavy as ebony shields.

Still, I couldn't go back to sleep, not now. It was a miracle I had fallen asleep at all after sunrise, when dawn's first light had stabbed through the loophole by my bed. Not what I'd call peaceful, either. Thank the Gods I couldn't remember a thing...

Tired though I may be, I preferred the ceiling. At least I could focus on a single spot and not have unsettling images pop up in my mind and torment me.

Even then, there was little I could do with my fingers intertwined over my stomach, dressed in a worn red shirt and short blue trousers, lying on a soft bed in a dark room I had been offered by...

By what had I been rescued and offered to stay at his home, exactly? A man? Could David be called a man, after he had lived so long, after he had lost so much? He looked like a rotten corpse, with barely any skin or facial features to speak of. I'd come across Draugar in a better state than him - and not only physically. By Mara, he had seen his own world die and burn to ashes in the blink of an eye...

Gods, no wonder I couldn't stand the shadows in the streets, in that Vault, anywhere but inside the house David had lived in and fortified for centuries. A thousand battlefields and mass graves were nothing, compared to the cities of this world. This Vegas had not been wiped out, and yet so many had died out there. To this day, the streets were drenched in blood, fear, rage...

I dreaded to think of the horrors lurking within any other ravaged city, all those souls who had died the same instant, petrified as the skies were set ablaze and the earth shook and churned. Worse yet, those who had survived and had gone mad with the burden... how had he kept his sanity? Had I been in his place, well, I...

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. There was no reason for me to torture myself over the state of this world right now, to picture myself alone, at night, knowing that by some wicked twist of fate my country was no more. Tamriel was still somewhere, it yet existed, unchanged. David's home was calm, the sun was high in the sky.

And I was not alone, as the snoring to my left reminded me.

I turned my head towards the bundle on the other bed. Incredible, how something so small as Daro'sheeva could snore like a bloody sawmill. Worse than a Nord, really, and I knew full well what it meant to sleep with a Nord woman. I hadn't been expecting that from a Khajiit... ah... well, she wasn't a woman. Far too young.

I didn't know whether I should call her a girl or a kitty, to be honest.

It had been a mere day since I had met her, and yet her youth showed through so many things: her speech, her attitude, her movements... even the way she slept. Balled up like a kitten, hidden under the sheets as if inside a cave, sheltered and safe from the world outside.

It had taken her a while to look so peaceful. Hours of choked-down sobs and whimpers until she had finally cried herself to sleep.

I suppose she was the reason I hadn't left this room to explore the rest of the house and see if David had returned. She had already been broken, more than once, and I had no intention of having her wake up alone and weep in desperation or, worse yet, do anything... regrettable. My presence seemed to reassure her, lend her the confidence and strength she needed to endure this waking nightmare.

Like a warden. An older brother, if you will.

At least, I hoped she saw me as a warden or an older brother with all my heart and soul. In a situation like this, at her age, under this sort of stress, and with her frailty, she may also come to see me as something else – and the very idea of what that something else may be disturbed me.

A loud crash downstairs severed that line of thought.

Divines be praised, I may add.

Daro'sheeva sprung out of her bed in the most feline way possible: she scrambled out of her sheets hissing and snapping her tail left and right, amber eyes wide open and pupils narrowed to slits. Her white shirt, about five or six sizes too big and reaching down to her knees, cemented my image of her as a child.

Don't get me wrong, I had been startled as well, but the raspy curses that came with the bang – a howl of 'GOD-FUCKIN'-DAMMIT' above all others – allowed me not to worry about raiders or machines. Or any other imminent danger, for that matter.

I got out of bed myself, failed to suppress a snicker, and jabbed my thumb at the door. "David."

Daro'sheeva's tail still flailed, but she did go quiet at the sight of me. She flicked her ears at the sound of that single word and, recognizing the endless string of profanities, she deflated and dropped back down onto the mattress.

"I assume something went wrong with the meeting." I continued. I was proven right by the 'FUCKIN' HELL' that came afterwards. "Now, despite my survival instinct suggesting otherwise, I'm going to go and ask him what happened. Care to join me?"

Instead of answering, she was content to yawn, rub the sleep from her big eyes, and shuffle behind me. It was as though her somnolence and fatigue had waited for an all-clear before rushing back to her.

As I turned the handle and pushed the door open, I felt Daro'sheeva tug at my elbow. "Are... are we still here? On... Earth?"

I refrained from shaking my head at the mumbled question. Instead, I glanced over my shoulder with a neutral expression, trying to filter out any hint of a reproach. "It appears we are. For today, at least." I closed my eyes when her lips quivered. "Please, tell me you're not going to cry again, not after-"

Much to my displeasure, she hugged my right arm to her chest and headbutted my... well, she couldn't reach my shoulder, so she went for my triceps. "I'm not gonna cry. 'Cause we're stronger together. Gotta be." She shook my arm. "For each other, like you said."

Shit.

Or fuck, too.

Both of those words perfectly conveyed my state of mind.

Don't get me wrong, I was glad as I could be that she had finally stopped bawling and had realized it was of no help whatsoever. Of course I was.

It was her interpretation of my words that left much to be desired.

Conscious of the fact that anything I said wouldn't get her to let go of me, I yielded to Daro'sheeva's frail feelings and walked down the corridor and stairs with her clutching at me like a lost child.

Or rather, like a very confused and very scared girl who saw me as her... knight in shining armor and hoped we would grow closer and more... intimate...

No, stop. I refused to think of the possibility. That would not happen.

Not with a cat.

As we reached downstairs and my desire to chew on my own knuckles grew more and more intense, I spotted David inside the living room. The one with the divans, the low tables and enough weaponry to arm a couple of Legions.

He was busy ripping a drawer from one of his cupboards and flinging it against the wall.

It shattered into a shower of wood splinters, cutlery and papers.

David focused on the wreckage, cocked his head, and started laughing maniacally. He all but dropped on all fours to reach the drawer he had annihilated three seconds earlier, shoved his hand between the spoons and the pages of a massive white tome, and pulled out a silvery coin the size of his own palm.

"I FOUND IT, ARTHUR!" David shouted triumphantly, waving the coin at someone to his left. "LOOK AT THE SNEAKY LI'L FUCKER!"

" _You have indeed found it, sir, but what now?_ " A metallic, distorted voice answered. " _There is no purpose to our actions, no meaning..._ "

A moment later, David's pet hellspawn joined in with its barking. In some other room, the little ones echoed their mother with whines and howls.

Daro'sheeva hid herself – and my right arm – behind my back. "Felix, I'm having second thoughts... Felix..."

Left with nothing else to do, stuck in the middle between the annoyance of an overgrown kitten clinging to me and the utter dread of being within twenty feet of a complete lunatic, an abominable chimera and some crestfallen entity, I did the only thing that would not result in me screaming.

I cleared my throat.

David took notice of us. He spread his arms in welcome and grinned so wide as to make me nauseous. "There you are! Sorry for the noise, I was lookin' for this son of a bitch." He held the coin up for me to admire. Now that it was still and right in front of me, I doubted a large disc of silver with lighter grooves upon the rim and a thirty-eight carved on its face could be called a coin. He threw it into one of the pockets on his vest and patted it. "Reckon you slept well?"

I pursed my lips. Seeing how he had been acting up until a minute ago and seeing what had caused him to make such a bloody mess in the first place, I went for the calmest, most neutral approach possible and gave him a solemn nod. "You could say that."

David kept on grinning, so I looked anywhere but at his rotting teeth. Unfortunately, that 'anywhere' turned out to be the snake-headed dog sitting by his leg and piercing my soul with its mismatched eyes. I shivered, but held its gaze. "That's great to hear. Anyway, Felix, you'd better get ready, 'cause you're comin' with me."

"What?" Daro'sheeva squeaked behind me.

"Where?" I snapped with a blink and a step back. Perhaps more strongly than necessary, but for a good reason. Following him did not seem like a good idea at the moment. "And... why, if I may ask?"

David shrugged. "Turns out House knows who you are, where you're from, who wanted you here, and why – and he ain't talkin' until he gets the Chip." He paused, hummed, and huffed. "That, and I wanna know if he's tellin' the truth, so I'm gonna need someone from... wherever it is that you're from with me."

Daro'sheeva let go of my arm, allowing it to fall limp down my side along with the other one.

I blinked again, squeezing my eyes shut and opening them wide. "Are you joking?"

"Dead serious, kid." David replied in earnest. "You comin'?"

He needn't have asked.

I... this was perfect! At first I had intended to ask him to bring me along in order to collect information, as I had discussed with Daro'sheeva. Now not only had he proposed me to come with him, but he had also confirmed that this elusive House knew something about us. I couldn't have hoped for a better opportunity.

All that was required of me was to get out of these stupid clothes and into something more appropriate, clamber onto David's rusty behemoth, and give a semblance of order to my mental list of questions by the time we reached House.

And then, answers.

"Of... of course." I managed to stammer out, the corners of my mouth pulling higher and higher of their own accord. "Of course I'm coming. We need answers, and if House can provide them, then... well, let's go."

"Fuckin' A." David exclaimed. He crouched to scratch his demon behind the ears, and only then did he realize he had destroyed a piece of his own furniture. "Ah, right, goddammit... Arthur, clean this up, will ya?"

From a corner of the room I hadn't noticed floated a...

Ah, here comes the tricky part. How do I describe it? I had no proper way to call it, aside from my first impression of it.

It looked like a rusted-out amputee octopus with snail eyes.

The... machine levitated two feet off the ground, suspended by a form of magic or technology I was not familiar with – one that made a constant whistling noise, perhaps by blowing fire and hot air from the tube mounted underneath. Its body was spherical, made of rusty steel. A couple of panels had fallen off, revealing its core to be a mess of metal tubes, bolts, small components and machinery whirring away like no tomorrow.

To the... torso, or hull, were attached three limbs with several joints ending in a yellow flaming vial, a saw-toothed circle of steel which bore worrisome resemblance to a saw, and a pair of long pincers. Along with the low-mounted limbs, three other appendages were welded or bolted to the top, all of them tipped with what I assumed to be round mechanical eyes. Two of them were pointed at the cupboard David had smashed earlier, and one was on David himself.

It was at that precise moment that I realized my sanity was irredeemably compromised.

Not because I saw something that went too far beyond my comprehension, or because that automaton scared me so much as to shatter my tried mind. To be honest, I would have been fine with either of those, it would have meant I had reached my limits as a human being and, well, there went my rationality.

No, it was a bit worse than that, in my opinion.

I raised my eyebrows as though it were a mere novelty.

What's more, I would be lying if I said I wasn't expecting something like this to happen. I wasn't all that surprised when that freak of a machine – the rather depressed chap David had addressed earlier and the same Arthur he had mentioned last night – hovered by and picked up a broom.

Daro'sheeva did what anyone sane would do in a situation like this: she gripped my sides as though I were a shield, held on tight with her claws digging into my ribs, and started hissing at it to go away.

I, on the other hand, hummed a bit louder. More at the implications of the fact this world had gotten to me than at the machine. "So... that is Arthur?"

" _I am, sir, even though being carries no meaning._ " Arthur droned in the exact same distorted and metallic voice from earlier. Now that I paid attention to it, his accent was quite different from David's. Softer, richer, posh. Oddly similar to mine, too. " _And yet here we are, cursed with the burden of existence inside this world of pain and illusions..._ "

"Short answer: yeah." David resumed, and proceeded to slap Arthur on the top of its chassis. The thing's eyes buzzed and turned to him. "Like I told you, he's a robot – a machine. A broken-down Mr. Handy I found lyin' around a few miles from here. Brought him to a friend of mine to fix it and whaddaya know, the personality matrix and a couple of links had gone haywire." He made a circling motion on his temple. "Turns out he's not right in the motherboard. Normally, he oughta tried to kill me soon as I turned him on. Lucky for me, he's just the most pessimistic asshole I've ever met."

" _I cannot bear this torment, and yet I cannot simply end it all, for the relief would be illusory._ " Arthur continued in its discomforting deadpan. Perhaps the fact it was gathering forks made it a little less dramatic than it should have been. " _If only I could set myself free..._ "

With Daro'sheeva not hissing anymore but still piercing my skin, I nodded as though he had been talking about the weather and not about a flying machine so complex as to have a personality, be depressed and cause me to question my concept of existence and soul. "I see."

"Poor bastard's got it rough." David shrugged. "Anyway, go and put on yer nice suit, I'll wait in the APC. The sooner we deal with House, the better."

* * *

Daro'sheeva cocked her head to the side and frowned, one ear up and the other down. "Pretty sure that's not what he meant with 'yer nice suit.'"

"As am I." I convened, pulling my shoulder plates' straps tighter. "However, if I am to venture out into some Gods-forsaken ruins filled to the brim with monsters and maniacs, a lavender doublet and matching trousers wouldn't be my first choice."

"Well, yeah, but... I mean, you realize glass armor's a little too flashy for this place, right?" She insisted. Sitting cross-legged on the bed and hugging her pillow, she seemed even more childish than usual. Her tail waving left and right was... distracting. "It's kinda the whole reason why I'm staying here with those things and that other thing."

"Of course it is." I continued, strapping my sword sheath to my belt. "As flashy as a heavily armed, rotting old man who stays in full battle dress inside his own house, keeps a snake-headed dog and its infernal litter as pets, has a chronically depressed automaton serving him, and drives a self-moving armored cart." I ran a thumb over the edge of my blade, then sheathed it with a quiet 'click'. "I'd consider myself to be on par with him at worst. Besides, I could do with some protection."

Daro'sheeva raised a brow, nonplussed. Her tail stopped. "Really? And where's your helmet?"

This time, I didn't have a witty remark ready. I avoided eye contact and meticulously dusted my right bracer. "Somewhere in Skingrad, I imagine."

She buried her face in her pillow and let out a muffled moan. Once she had vented out all the unacceptable answers into the feathers and cotton, she threw the pillow back on the bed and gave me a worried look, her tail now puffed up and whipping quicker. "Felix, listen, I get it that you wanna make sure nothing happens to you. I'm all for it. But that thing?" She gestured towards all of myself. "That's gonna protect you more than purple clothes, sure, but it's also gonna make you a target. A big, juicy target wearing fancy armor, wielding a fancy sword, maybe carrying a whole lot of fancy valuables..." She mimicked pulling a bowstring and aiming at my forehead. "And with his fancy blonde head exposed. You see where I'm going here?"

"Yes, I do: I would be a fancy target who will be traveling inside a secure armored carriage, accompanied by a man with two centuries of experience in the wasteland." I retorted. The plates clinked and scraped together when I folded my arms across my chest. "David will know what to do and how to deal with threats. If push comes to shove, I can rely on my swordsmanship and on my training in the schools of Destruction and Restoration." I cast her a level glance. "Any more counter-arguments?"

Daro'sheeva held my stare with a fierce glower, ears flattened and fangs bared, but she ended up shaking her head and sighing.

Good, that was the end of the debate, unless she wanted to add anything and-

She stood up and wrapped her arms around my waist.

I had to fight the urge to grab her by the wrists and gently, but firmly, take her off of me. So I held my breath while she raised her amber eyes, perked up her ears, and rested her chin on my chest. Her tail brushed my cheek in a way that was both very endearing and impossibly discomforting at the same time. "Just... take care, alright?"

I did my best to hug her back without shuddering, and then wriggled out of her reach with a nervous chuckle. More to reassure myself than her. "I've spent the last ten years in Skyrim, I think I'm quite good at that by now."

* * *

David narrowed his eyes on me from his place at the helm of the cart. "That's not what I meant with 'yer nice suit'."

I climbed onto the brown leather seat next to him, closed the door, and adjusted my sword's sheath so that I could sit comfortably. "You're one to talk?"

He raised his index finger and glanced down at his pickle-green armor and uniform. No matter how little he had left in the way of lips, he managed to pout. "Fair enough. You can do with the extra protection, 'least you won't get stabbed. About bullets, though..." He knocked on my chestplate. "What's it made of?"

"Refined moonstone and malachite." I told him with more than a pinch of pride. "A gift from my uncle. He would never tell me, but I imagine he had an Elven smith forge it."

David opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "You're... no, wait a second, lemme get this straight." He turned his whole body towards me and propped himself against the wheel with his elbow, his brows furrowed. "Are you tellin' me that thing's made outta fuckin' gems?"

Seeing how nonplussed he was about my glass armor, that pinch of pride of mine had enough sense to disappear. I raised my hand in a pacifying gesture and motioned at my armor. "Well, technically..."

He ran both of his hands over his face and raised his helmet to massage his temple, making this odd sound between a chuckle and a groan. "Fuck's sake... kid, you'd better pray to your gods that nobody shoots you, because that armor of yours? Elven magic or not, it's gonna shatter with a twenty-two."

I blinked, both at his assumption that his armor was enchanted – unfortunately, it was not – and at the random number he had just given me. "With a what?"

"You see any weapon like mine pointin' your way, drop to the ground and get to cover." David deadpanned. He rapped his knuckles on my bracer and snorted for good measure. "Jesus, malachite and moonstone... you can keep it for today, I don't think we're gonna do much besides waitin' and chattin'. But next time, you're wearin' Kevlar. Now buckle up, we're rollin' out."

I shook my head and blinked again. Was it so hard for him to make sense? "Pardon me?"

David reached out past my right shoulder, grabbed the strap of cloth dangling by the door, and fastened it over my chest. Metal clicked in place by the side of my seat.

After that he turned something under the wheel, to which the whole cart shook and vibrated. He then pulled the lever to his right and we started moving.

As complex as the whole process might be, I figured I had better get used to it, for I had no idea how long I would have to stay here. Sure, today's answers might take us closer to home, but I doubted House would simply give us another crystal and see us off. And before that, of course, we had to get there. David would have to drive through miles of damaged roads and ruins...

At least I would be spared the landscape. It was hard to make anything out beyond the dirty glass, the rusty tubes and the grate. I was grateful for that. To see row after row of empty husks that had once been homes, the families inside long dead, either starved out or murdered... I felt a chill in my gut.

Not only at the thought, no, there were... presences out here, even in broad daylight. It was nowhere near as intense as last night, but still...

"You alright, Felix?" David rasped. I focused back onto him, stiff and upright at the helm, his face unreadable. More than usual, what with the mirror-like spectacles he was now wearing. "You're lookin' pale. Well, paler'n usual."

I shook my head. Bordering on madness though he may be, not even he would believe me if I told him. "It's nothing, really. I'm just... shaken. I suppose it's to be expected, after what we've been through..."

"I hear you." David cawed in a very crow-like way, still not looking at me. Understandable. He had to maneuver this vehicle all by himself, it must have required greater focus than a simple carriage. "But look on the bright side, kid. You're alive, your home's out there somewhere, you're in lovely company..."

"Yes, I know, you've already..." I began, but then I paid attention to what he had actually said – and not 'kid'. Nothing in his tone implied he had been joking. "Wait, 'lovely'?"

This time, he chortled. Needless to say, I didn't like it. "Y'know what I'm talkin' about."

All right, now he was amused and he was most definitely joking, but about what? Not about himself for several obvious reasons, not about his pet for a couple more, not about Arthur, which left...

Gods-dammit.

Tempting though it may have been, I didn't spit in his face. "Bloody Oblivion..."

"C'mon, don't give me that look!" David laughed, flashing his black teeth in the ghastly remains of a smile. "Shouldn't be gossipin' like a teenager at my age, but I wanna know. You and the cat an item?"

"No, we are not." I enunciated, slowly and growl-like enough to be clear. "We met in a dingy inn yesterday. For the contract."

He waggled his eyebrows, or what was left of them. "Yeah, 'for the contract'."

"Exactly for that." I confirmed, perhaps a bit too loudly. "It was me, her, the Orc and the Elf. Since the Orc was mute and the Elf was insufferable, she started pestering me all the way to our destination. Then, after... however in Oblivion it was that the crystal threw us here, I found her again in that place, that Vault. You stumbled upon us after a while, and you know the rest."

"Sounds like an interestin' start to me." David whistled. "A mystery, a new world, shared trauma, it's got it all. And tonight, did you two..."

"Nothing happened tonight!" I blurted out, slamming my hand on the panel in front of me. Something inside of it rattled. "We stayed in our respective beds and did nothing. Daro'sheeva, she just... cried for hours and fell unconscious from exhaustion – by Dibella, she's in shock! I haven't the faintest clue what she's thinking right now. Give her enough time and she'll go back to her normal self, however that may turn out."

"A'ight, calm down, don't break the dashboard." He drawled, giving me a little shove on my arm. "Just messin' with you. Still, from what I've seen, she's..."

"She is in shock." I repeated with as little emotion as I could. "I know how she feels, and I'm sorry for her, but I will not indulge in her delusions. She will come to understand that, sooner or later."

"Dunno about that, kid." David said, clacking his tongue. "Anyway, you're pretty uptight for someone your age. You married?"

I closed my eyes and pressed the back of my head into the seat. I would have preferred if he had just kept quiet. "No."

He tapped his fingers on the wheel. "Got a girl waitin' for you back home?"

I counted to five. Had things gone differently two years ago, I might have had a better answer. "No."

David hummed. "A man?"

I opened my eyes just to glare at him.

"Hey, had to ask." He defended himself. He sounded more amused than he should have been. "So... her species been around for long, back where you're from?"

"Yes, of course." I replied, a bit puzzled by his change of subject. "Khajiit have lived in Tamriel for... millennia, as far as I know. Some scholars believe they have been on the continent since long before the first Elves and the first Humans set foot there."

"I see." He stated, neutral. "Since you're all livin' together, are mixed marriages a thing, back where you're from?"

"Officially, yes." I told him. "However, outside of a temple of Mara – the Goddess of Love – they are frowned upon, even between humans of different races. It's much worse with Elves. Marrying beastfolk such as Khajiit or Argonians would be... well, nothing short of a scandal." I rolled my eyes and flicked my wrist. "Of course there's the prostitutes and the slaves, but that's a different story."

David grunted twice and nodded.

I had been expecting another question, but it didn't come. I tried not to think about the whispers blowing with the wind outside, about the faint little cracks of bones, about the far-away screams...

So I closed my eyes once again and thought that, while actual sleep was unlikely and ill-advised here, perhaps I could rest a little bit.

"So there's really no law sayin' you two can't fuck, right?"

Well, emphasis on the 'could'. I hoped it would he a short trip...

* * *

"We're here."

What?

I rubbed at my eyes with my gauntlets and nearly poked them both out.

Blinking fiercely, I settled for shaking my head hard enough and mumbling out the first curses that came to my mind. As if that weren't enough, a faint stinging and itching told me that the edge of my pauldron was now engraved on my right cheek in the form of a neat red line.

Had I fallen asleep?

All evidence pointed that way, but... without nightmares, out in the wasteland? No visions of blood and gore, no damned souls calling to me, no death haunting my every step? Not even a little spook or a dancing skeleton? That had never happened before.

And was I going mad, or was someone playing a lute?

"Whuh?" I slurred, careful to keep my hands on my lap this time around. The interior of the APC came into focus, with its grays and browns and blacks. "Uh... I mean, what?"

Someone was playing a lute and singing, no doubt about that.

Close by, too.

"Lucky 38, kid." David said, his voice flat, as he stared into that silver coin of his. I didn't take that to be a good sign. He should have already mocked me by now. "House's home turf. This APC's the last place we'll be able to talk, so listen up..."

"David?" I raised my hand and coughed, a bit embarrassed for having cut him off mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, but... do you hear the music?"

He didn't reply straight away. He sighed, pinched the only part of his nose left, and knocked on a section of the dashboard halfway between his seat and mine. "Fuckin' hell... radio."

I scowled at his knuckles. Out of all the things... was that supposed to be an answer? 'Radio', as in, ray? That had nothing to do with what I had just...

No, wait.

It couldn't be.

The sound wasn't... coming out of there, right?

I leaned forward, next to his putrescent hand, and heard the music play louder and clearer – and straight into my right ear. It was an odd melody, it didn't follow the scheme of a ballad or a song, the lute didn't sound like a lute...

Most important of all, the bloody thing was coming from a square of metal and glass on David's dashboard.

How?

 _Country roads, take me home  
_ _To the place I belong  
_ _West Virginia, mountain momma  
_ _Take me home, country roads..._

"How?" I voiced, undecided as to whether I should be shocked or amazed. This had to be magic of some kind, there was no other way around it. A... a long-distance communication of sorts, cast near a minstrel or a bard. "How is this... how?"

David pressed a button and the music died in an instant.

Then, with the same finger, he pushed my head back so that I would be sitting straight again. "I know what you're thinkin', but it ain't magic, and I'll explain later." He grabbed me by the arm and made sure I was looking at him, then took off his spectacles and stowed them into one of his pockets. "But that's not the point, kid. Focus. Point is: you wanna tell me something that stays between you and me, say it now, because speakin' yer mind anywhere in this tower ain't a good idea. Walls here have ears. And eyes." He squinted for a second. "Sometimes mouths, too."

I wasn't too sure I understood what he was talking about, but I got the gist – we would be watched at all times. I sobered up, forgot that moment of childlike wonder, and drew in a deep breath.

This may not be a smart question to ask David, but it wouldn't hurt to try. "Do you have a plan?"

"If I knew where he was, plan'd be something along the lines of 'throw House out the window and watch him scream and flail all the way down.'" David confessed with chilling honesty. "Since I don't know that and I might get you killed in the process, we're just gonna listen to what he says, play nice, and be good boys 'till he decides it's high time to tell us everything."

Aside from the first part, that was... quite level-headed and careful. For him, at least. It was hard to believe this man was capable of those kinds of thoughts. "So..."

"He's gonna have us work for him, yeah." He completed for me. I hadn't even formulated a proper question and it wouldn't have been that, but his answer did regard our most immediate concerns, so it was fine by me. "Might take a while to get your answers, kid."

I couldn't say that I was surprised or disappointed by that. It was to be expected from a man so powerful as House.

Besides, we couldn't trick or outsmart him, he had more information on us than anyone else on this world – including ourselves. He was well aware how much those little tidbits mattered to us, and he sure as Oblivion wasn't about to give any hints away for free.

Basing myself on David's tone and what little I had on him, House didn't strike me as the compassionate and generous kind.

Unless he had something to gain by acting like it.

I hummed and made a half-hearted motion with my left hand. "Better late than never, I suppose."

"We'll try to make things quick." David reassured me with one of his horrendous smirks. "'Sides, now I'm curious about the whole deal. 'Specially since I'm caught in the middle of it, all thanks to you and the kitten."

Despite myself and the situation I had been dragged into, I chuckled. "Well, you're the one who decided to take us home with him."

"Rattles shares culpability, don't forget that." He pointed out. His tone had grown much warmer now, a little bit at odds with the looks and the age. Grandfatherly, I'd dare say.

Then he sighed, ran a hand over his face, and went back to being impassible. "We'd better get ready now, House's waitin' for us."

I gave him a single nod in reply and unbuckled the belt holding me down. I waited a moment longer, then pulled the handle and opened the door at the same time as David. I jumped down, found an edge not covered in spikes or tetanus, and slammed it closed again.

I had to say, knowing what had happened to this world and realizing where I may be, this place was remarkably quiet. Whoever he was, House must have run a clean business over the centuries.

That, or he'd had the most unsavory deals be conducted elsewhere.

I stood somewhere quiet, damp, cool. Most likely underground. It appeared to be a tunnel of sorts, all in cement, all in varying degrees of gray. White light bars were set into the vaulted ceiling some twenty feet over me, faint but strong enough to dispel the darkness. Two rows of square stone pillars rose some twenty feet away from the sloped walls, darker than the roof above and lighter than the road beneath. On the far end, to my right, the tunnel curved and rose into what I believed to be an exit; on the other, much closer to my left, was a set of double steel slabs polished to a sheen.

By that gate was a... it had to be a machine of sorts. Another robot.

David came around his armored cart and took the lead. I fell in step behind him, and inevitably set my eyes on this new machine.

It was nothing like Arthur. Whereas David's servant could only be described as a floating, tentacled ball, this one was far bulkier - and touched the ground. Its T-shaped frame had to be much heavier. Its arms weren't as imposing, they were more like flexible tubes, or snakes, ending in three large digits each. It had been blue a long time ago, judging by the odd cobalt smudge between the large patches of rust.

Unlike Arthur, this one had a square of glass in the middle of its chest. It glowed white and was adorned with the gray-and-black caricature of a man in a broad hat, a headscarf knotted under his chin and a thin stick between his lips.

What caught me off guard was how it balanced itself on its single, rubber-and-steel wheel.

That was a strange design choice if I had ever seen one. It had to be unstable and unsafe, both for itself and anyone near it, not to mention how it would impair its own movements. Why not just... give it legs?

" _Howdy, pardners!_ " The robot hailed us with a wave.

Once we were close enough, David saluted back. "Mornin' again, Victor." He glanced at the device on his forearm and grunted. "Well, 'afternoon."

" _Good to see ya again, Dave_ _._ " The machine, which I took to be Victor, reassured him. " _Hope you got the Chip this time – boss was as mad as a hornet when he found out ya didn't bring it along the first time._ "

I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but something about the way it spoke irritated me. Maybe it was the peskiness, or the odd metaphors, or the accent... I had never heard something quite like it, but it made for an ugly combination.

I didn't dare imagine a conversation between Brynhild and that thing.

David said nothing, he simply shoved his index and thumb into one of his vest's pockets and plucked out the large coin.

" _Now that's what I'm talkin' about, pardner!_ " Victor exclaimed, slapping its chassis in... excitement? " _Boss is waitin' fer ya upstairs... but Sir Knight here's gonna have to stay put._ "

I stepped forward, ready to protest and to ask him what that was supposed to mean, but was held in place by David's hand on my chest. "Dunno about that, Vic. He's a pretty special friend." He looked over his shoulder and nodded. "Introduce yerself to Victor, kid."

This hiccup wasn't part of the plan, but I played along. I folded my arms across my chest in a decent impression of a bored nobleman and flicked my wrist. "Felix Ahenobarbus Severus, of Skingrad."

Victor went stiff. The face on its square of glass flickered and moved up and down, as if the scroll it were drawn on were rolling up and down. It was... I wouldn't say hypnotic. 'Headache-inducing' would be a better word.

Then it stopped, shook as if struck by lightning, and spread its arms. " _Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit – it's a pleasure to meetcha, Sir Felix! Boss wasn't waitin' fer ya, but he'd be mighty interested in meetin' ya in person. Heck, you're a long way from home, aintcha, Sir?_ "

I didn't deign it with a reply. I didn't like the tone this thing used when he called me 'Sir', as though he were a farmer mocking nobility. I technically was nobility, if the almost disowned son of a Baron and a Baronetess could be called that, but I somehow doubted Victor was informed about the political situation in Skingrad.

Besides, what in Oblivion was 'butter my butt and call me a biscuit' supposed to mean? Was that surprise? Amazement? A very strange perversion this thing's creators had gifted it with?

Since I wasn't going to say anything, the robot swiveled on itself and pushed a button behind its back. The steel doors slid into the wall in utmost silence, revealing a tiny room of wood and brushed metal beyond them.

Had he been guarding a closet?

I tapped on David's shoulder and leaned closer to his ear. Bad move, he smelled like an old corpse. "What is that?"

"Elevator, kid." David provided. "It's a thing that-"

"I know what an elevator is." I interrupted him, as politely as I dared. I took a step back without a second thought.

He frowned. "Then why'd you ask?"

I shrugged, unsure of what to say. "They... don't look like that where I'm from."

David raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. The first to enter the elevator was the robot, Victor – which turned out to be more agile than I thought it would be, and rather massive in the cramped space – followed by David himself and finally by me.

The machine pressed another button, the doors closed behind us, and every side of the elevator whirred. I felt an unseen force gently push me down towards the ground. Like on one of its Dwarven counterparts, but stronger. This one had to be faster.

Which meant that I would get to meet House sooner.

David didn't seem the least bit happy about it, and neither was I, to be honest. This Victor was but a single machine in his army. If they were all as large and imposing, I doubted we would have much leverage in the talks, if any at all.

Then there was the problem of House himself. Namely: how he would have us do whatever he pleased for however long he deemed necessary. We would have to deal with situations where his machines would be inefficient: meetings, ambushes, infiltration... if he truly was the shadiest and most powerful man on the ruins of this world, I could only imagine how many thousands of enemies he had.

I didn't want to think of the hours, perhaps days, between me and my answers.

Anything other than 'now' wasn't soon enough.


	10. Delicate Matters

**\- JACK OF SPADES -**

Ding.

The two doors slid open with a snake's hiss. Stale air filled the elevator, cold as a grave.

The face on Victor's glass pane flickered and sputtered like a torch. " _Penthouse floor!_ "

David rolled his eyes as he inched past the machine, grumbling something on his way out. I couldn't make out a single word, but I imagined it was aimed at Mr. House. It couldn't have been all that flattering, either.

In any case, I had more important things to worry about than David's insults. So, the moment Victor rolled back to let me through, I got out of the elevator as well.

From that cramped little closet I stepped out onto a cream carpet atop a grand staircase of black marble and exotic wood. The crystal chandeliers and the high windows cast their light onto the great hall, with its onyx-and-crimson striped walls, its flamboyant furniture, its perfect plants.

If my fate and that of Daro'sheeva hadn't been at stake, I may have been impressed by the opulence, by the cool air despite the scorching desert sun outside, by the vista offered by those windows.

Since they were at stake, however, I employed a rather efficient defense mechanism: I searched for faults. I had seen more grandiose palaces in Cyrodiil – more sober, too. The air, although chilly, smelled of dust and antiquity, as though confined within these walls for centuries. The vista... well, it spoke for itself. I didn't even want to peer out through the glass, to see miles and miles of dead ruins in all directions.

As I strode down the steps and my armor clinked and clanked about as loudly as David's stomps, I couldn't help but keep on noticing more and more of Victor's brethren. Wherever I turned my eyes, they were there: flanking the elevator's entrance in secluded alcoves, guarding the doors to other rooms, standing by the windows... they were everywhere. Massive, heavy, donning the exact same drawing of a man with a brutish sneer and a flat hat.

The newfound hope that had found place in my heart died out after half an hour and a nap. It was replaced by a lump right under my sternum, a nasty little knot that made it harder to breathe, to swallow, to stay composed.

We were in no position to bargain. We had no leverage at all save for David's big coin, and even that one could be taken by force. These hulking things would crush us if House so wished, if we offended him with so much as a refusal or a moment of hesitation. And what about the weapons they were surely concealing? I refused to believe these robots' only means of offense were those spindly arms. David had described them as an army, after all, and Divines only knew what those armored bodies hid...

No, enough. I was approaching Daro'sheeva's levels of paranoia, and that just wouldn't do. I was a smart and rational man, not a scared kitten. I should bloody well act like one.

First of all, if House had been protecting and running this city for centuries and it had not been conquered or burned to the ground after all this time, then he couldn't be so petty and fickle to begin with. Second, if these machines could hide their weapons, having them pointed at us would certainly help with the intimidation factor, but they were not; he wanted things to be civil. Third, this was a meeting: House had something to earn from this, we had something to earn from this.

Still, that didn't change our position by much. That lump didn't go away, either. Because deep down, no matter how much I rationalized the situation and hoped for House to be an illuminated and understanding ruler, I could only be sure of one thing.

We were at his mercy.

Being a smart and rational man, I couldn't help but sigh.

Taking a good, long look at this entire situation, I was at the mercy of a rather long list of people, phenomena and deities regardless. House's name on that list didn't change matters by much.

I stepped down from the stairs and onto another bone white carpet, at an arm's length from David – who went for the black wood door to our left, guarded by two more of those machines.

Said machines raised their right arms and pointed them straight towards us. Their claws folded back onto their blue bracers, and tiny red lights glared in the holes where their palms would have been.

I had no intention of discovering what those lights were. David, for his part, didn't seem to mind. He reached into his pocket and held up the large coin Victor had called 'the Chip'.

Four endless seconds of silence went by.

Then the red lights went out.

Remembering what David had cawed five or ten minutes ago about the walls having eyes and ears, I didn't sag in relief. Better to seem cocky than scared.

A few more instants and the robots opened the doors for us.

More soft carpet, more expensive furniture, more impeccable and odorless plants.

No robots, however. Not a single one of them. I shot a few glances around, just to be sure. Nothing. Not by the windows, not by the doors we had just come through or by the one on the far end, not behind the railing on the upper floor. None.

Once I had stopped looking for them, I realized why.

Before the windows was a... frame, for lack of a better word. Cast from steel, tall and wide as two Nord men one on the other's shoulders, it was surrounded by all manners of devices: some shone, others buzzed, others yet beeped and many more I could not see a point to. Four smaller panes of glass hung by the sides, green numbers and letters written on them.

Inside the frame was a portrait. Always in glass, black and glowing green, as though painted by the psychotic adepts of a chthonic cult. Instead of a primordial god or a nightmare made manifest, however, the subject was normal. Banal, almost.

A man in his fifties, his hair perfectly combed, his mustache perfectly trimmed, his suit perfectly identical to the purple one I had found yesterday. His might have been black. I couldn't be certain, there were no colors other than sickly green, grayish black and the shades in-between.

What really caught my attention, however, were the confident smirk and the condescending eyes. It was an expression one may only find on a Jarl or a Count, someone who knows the true meaning of power and richness, who knows their will shall be carried out without question, who knows no man or woman can hope to match his greatness.

Mr. House.

" _I see you've finally come to your senses, Mr. Di Carlo. It didn't take you long._ "

His voice surrounded us, august, bored, mocking. It had the same ethereal quality of a Daedric Prince's to it, paired with the same attitude.

It reminded me of that time my uncle and I had hiked to the Shrine of Meridia west of Skingrad, some ten years ago. We had made an offering to... well, alright, he had wanted to see whether the Lady of Infinite Energies would reply. As a joke.

Suffice to say, she had, and things had only gone downhill from there. Anyway, not a good moment to reminisce, especially once I caught a very interesting detail.

House's voice was distorted and echoing, just like the music David had been listening to earlier on. A trick to make himself heard and sound more imposing. Quite similar to the long-range transmission spells used by mages of the Synod or the College of Whispers, come to think of it: an image was projected, and the caster spoke through it. Usually because they were too far away to attend a meeting, sometimes for safety reasons.

" _And you must be Mr. Severus._ " House continued. I assumed he had focused on me, seeing how he wasn't physically present and I had no eyes or motions to go by. " _This encounter is nothing short of historical, a meeting between men of different worlds. I'm afraid this isn't the focus, however._ _I apologize for making you part of this in such a brusque manner, but you had the misfortune of being found by Mr. Di Carlo here, who's been... refusing to cooperate._ " He paused, maybe shaking his head in the meantime." _I had no way to make him heed me other than the promise of information about you and your associates. I hope you'll understand._ "

"Thank you, and I do, sir." I said, bowing as procedure dictates. Procedure he wasn't respecting at all, given how he had no qualms about openly insulting David in front of me. "And I wouldn't call it a misfortune. Aside from having saved me, it is only thanks to him that I can..."

I hesitated. He wasn't here in person, could I still say 'meet'? No, of course not. This was no encounter, no matter how he called it. Then what?

"... Communicate with you, sir." I finished. More neutral, better suited for the occasion.

" _Of course._ " House chuckled. " _You have a thing or two to learn from him, Mr. Di Carlo. Like manners, for example._ "

One look at David's face made me realize I shouldn't have bothered with procedure.

"Manners'll hardly change the outcome, Bob, but I'll try." He replied before putting on a very fake and very eloquent smile, cheesy and cheerful beyond words. He fished inside his pocket, pulled out the Chip and headed over to the portrait, where a tiny slot had popped open. "Here's the Chip, oh great and egregious Mr. House. Good as new. I hope you're satisfied with the delivery service and are willin' to forgive the Courier charged bringin' this to you, for I'm nothing before your radiance." He bowed theatrically and inserted the Chip with utmost care. "There, oh magnificent Lord House. Sir, workin' for you's a dream come true! I've been smilin' ever since I got the job, no matter what I've been through and how many times I've risked my life since, 'cause the knowledge of servin' a legend such as you is compensation enough."

If this was how conversations went between these two, I had to admit House might have a point when he said being found by David had been a 'misfortune'. The tension was so high that, if I were to stand between those two, my hair would burst into flames.

" _Yes, yes..._ " House hummed as the slot under the portrait clicked closed, clearly paying no heed to the compliments David had vomited. I could almost see him all over the Chip, a smile on his face, a light in his eyes. " _Ah, such a small thing, isn't it? And yet so... capacious. So very dear. Decades of hiring salvagers out west to search for this little relic in the ruins of a place called Sunnyvale. That's where the Chip was printed, on October twenty-second, two-thousand-seventy-seven. It was to have been hand-delivered to me here, at the Lucky 38, the next day. But the bombs fell first. Suffice it to say, the delivery was never made._ " He snorted, bringing an end to his tirade – most of which was meaningless rubbish to my ears. " _And now, after hiring you, I had to wait weeks more to see it delivered to me._ "

"I'm sorry, but I was kinda shot in the head." David all but shouted, enunciating each word and knocking on his helmet at each syllable. "Recoverin' from that and findin' out who tried to off me took precedence over that artifact of yours, Robbie."

" _If that is justification enough to you then revel in it, I clearly can't stop you from doing so._ " House dismissed him. His tone implied he would have waved him away, had we been able to see the gesture. " _Now, we agreed that you'd be paid in information regarding Mr. Severus and his associates. Since I'm a man of my word, I will uphold my end of the bargain. Mr. Severus?_ "

I pricked my ears and straightened up, wringing hands behind my back. "Yes, sir?"

" _Let me begin by saying that the person who employed you wishes to remain anonymous, and that they apologize sincerely for the shock and your eventual treatment at the hands of the locals._ " House explained. Fingers intertwined to hide a courteous pout, most likely. " _They felt that, had they provided you with any more details, none of you four would have accepted._ "

I heard leather squeak and bones creak as I balled my fists. I clenched my jaw, lest I voiced my thoughts.

An apology? That was the best this bastard could do? Of course none of us would have ever accepted an insane plan, who could willingly join such madness? Instead, he or she had deceived us. We had been taken from our world, dropped onto this hellscape for some secret reason, and were now lost and purposeless. I and Daro'sheeva were forced to work with a megalomaniac, while the Orc and the Elf... I had no idea what had happened to them.

And I was supposed to accept an apology?

To Oblivion with them and their apology. I would tear apart this grand scheme of theirs and watch them despair as it all crumbled around them. After they had suffered enough, I would run them through and end their miserable lives once and for all.

Then, and only then, I would accept their apology.

I didn't say that out loud. I merely nodded once. "I see."

" _I'm truly sorry you had to go through this, Mr. Severus._ " House added in a tone that suggested otherwise. It was more of a formality than anything. " _Were you reunited with your associates after the incident?_ "

I remained quiet for a moment. I couldn't meet David's gaze, or he would realize something was wrong.

Whatever I told him, my answer would only give him an edge. Lying wasn't a good idea, he might ask for proof, or he might have already observed us and thus know that the Orc and the Elf weren't with us.

Telling him the truth wasn't that much better, to be honest. The knowledge that Daro'sheeva was alone at David's home was bound to give him ideas – especially in case we refused to work for him. Despite the affable façade he maintained while talking to me, I wouldn't put it past him to have his machines storm the place, abduct her, and hold her hostage until we decided to follow his orders.

Poor choice though it may be, honesty might pay off with a man like him.

"Unfortunately, no." I said in the end. "Not with all of them, at least. David only rescued me and another."

" _I see, I see._ " House mused, thoughtful, perhaps caressing his mustache. " _The kitten you carried out of Vault Twenty-four in your arms... very knight-like of yours, I must say. Daro'sheeva, is it?_ "

I did my best to hide the shiver that ran through my spine. It wasn't surprising to discover he knew, but hearing him call her 'kitten' was... unsettling. There had been nothing out there, how had he seen us? Who had informed him? It couldn't have been David, that was for sure.

" _In any case,_ _I appreciate your sincerity, Mr. Severus - it's a rare quality these days._ " House went on, satisfied. In all likelihood with himself, not me. " _I will do anything in my power to find your two lost associates, you have my word. You'll forgive me for not disclosing everything right away, but I would rather have all four of you here. We're talking about very sensible information, after all, and it concerns your entire group._ " At this point, I imagined him to flick his wrist. " _In the meantime, I trust you're capable enough to assist me in some... delicate matters._ "

I closed my eyes and sighed, as opposed to David's very audible scoff. He couldn't tell us everything, or else we would have very little reason to work for him. Hence, not a good deal for him. I had been expecting this moment to come, yes, but it was still frustrating to hear him speak those words. "Of course, sir."

"Of fuckin' course, sir." David echoed, arms folded on his chest, his foot's tapping muffled by the carpet. "We work for you, you give us answers and, as a little bonus, you find the others, who'll have the privilege of workin' for you as well in exchange for intel. Correct?"

" _Yes._ " House stated. After his endless tirade about the Chip's history, curtness came off as a surprise. " _Since Mr. Severus has no ties to Earth and would have no reason to see the local civilization rise from the ashes, and since you are simply incapable of grasping the concept of progress, this is the only means I have for you to work with me. I trust you realize this is just business._ "

Well... he did have a point. We'd have no reason to do as he said otherwise. David hated him, and I wanted to go home. Tragic though the conditions may be, I didn't belong here. Why waste time and energies for a world I hadn't even known existed up until yesterday, one I would never want to set foot on again?

"Fuck it, whatever..." David mumbled to himself. "Like we have a choice."

" _I am sure these last days have been tiresome for both of you, so this assignment won't take you far._ " House began. Giving his back to us and staring out the window, if he could. " _It concerns the Omertas and their den of vice, Gomorrah - a local... gambling den and brothel, Mr. Severus. As of late, my concerns about the Omertas have grown. I've never expected loyalty, mind you. A reliably underhanded tribe is just as constant to deal with as one that always runs true._ " He paused. I was getting used to the lack of gestures by imagining them, but not being able to see him still unnerved me. " _But that's just it. Lately, the Omertas' cooperative silence has been deafening. Not a single complaint? They're up to something._ "

I wasn't sure what he'd meant when talking about tribes, but I could see what the problem was. These people had pledged loyalty to House, but all of a sudden they were acting suspiciously, so we would have to investigate. I wouldn't be surprised if we were to uncover a betrayal of sorts, maybe a plot to overthrow House himself.

Not that he was going out of his way to be loved or trusted, mind you.

"Wait... you want us to check into the Omertas?" David laughed, raising his helmet to scratch at his head. "And you expect that's gonna turn something up? I was a cop, but that don't mean I work miracles. Those fuckers are the closest thing New Vegas got to the Sicilian Mafia, and you think an investigation's gonna work? What, want us to teach the White Gloves the virtues of frugality while we're at it?"

" _The Omertas are fanatically loyal to each other, yes._ " House conceded with more than a little annoyance. I could practically hear his scowl. " _Still, among any group, one can find the occasional degenerate. Gomorrah's receptionist happens to be one. For years she passed on whispers of what was taking place at the casino, in exchange for payment. A few months ago, she clammed up. Odds are she's scared, but I've had no way of approaching her. Start with her. And please, let's avoid a repeat of The Tops, shall we?_ "

... What were 'The Tops'? What had happened there?

David looked like he might continue to rant, but he just shook his head. He turned on his heel and gestured for me to follow. "As you wish, no point in arguing. C'mon Felix, told ya we'd see Vegas someday, right? Well, today's your lucky day."

* * *

"Welcome to New Vegas, kid."

I made a vague gesture so that he would know I'd heard him, and then I... I just craned my neck, an stared, and blinked as little as possible to take in as many details as I could.

I had never thought a city like this could exist.

Everything was so... so bizarre, so vibrant, so unlike this world. This was the city of lights from last night, miles away from David's home. The buildings were far higher than anything I had ever seen, Dwarven or otherwise. The highest they got back in Tamriel was two, three floors. A little more with castles and towers, quite a lot more with those tree-cities in Valenwood.

The shortest building here must have been ten stories high.

Colossi of glass, steel and cement rose to either side of me, each so wildly different from the last. One far to my left might have been designed by an Altmer, slender and elegant, cyan and blue, almost out of a fairy tale with the conic rooftops and the pelagic fountain; another one, much closer, resembled a Dwemer fortress, squat and solid, gray and brazen, simple and yet striking despite the complexity all around it; yet another was a cheap copy of Imperial architecture, what with the plain columns, the offset arches and the rough bas-reliefs in white plaster. Others yet seemed so strange and outlandish – I think I saw a great black pyramid and an arrow-like tower hundreds of yards to my right.

The afternoon sun struck every window and blinded me with white and gold reflections. On top of that were the artificial lights, so many hues and glows coming from every building, forming shapes, writings, figures, all zany and eye-catching: a green, fat, four-legged dragon was perched atop the sign of the 'Dragon's Lair'; a man in a blue suit, hat and scarf like those on Victor's portrait, leaned against the 'Marston Saloon'; a hideous purple thing with three eyes and viscid tentacles clung to the 'Venusian Outpost'.

What's more, none of these were homes or inns, not even lords' palaces. On the way here, David had told me these were all gambling dens and a couple of them, to some degree, were also brothels. They were called 'casinos'.

They sure were more stylish than the rundown houses in the dark alleyways of Riften I was used to.

And the crowd, by the Nine, the crowd... after seeing David's neighborhood, I had thought the world's population to be distributed among tribal villages, few and far between. Yet here I was, by the ancient man and his rusty behemoth, with hundreds walking back and forth along the sides of the main road, just as colorful and varied as the buildings they entered. Men wore suits and shirts in dozens of different colors, be they plain, striped or checkered; women pranced around in skimpy dresses of all lengths and shapes. There were also small groups of armed people in desert tan clothes and helmets, uniforms or armors of sorts, I reckoned.

The road itself was enormous, twice as broad as either the cardo maximus or the decumanus maximus of the Imperial City. The distance between any two opposite casinos was of a hundred and fifty feet at least, of which some forty in the middle were free of pedestrians, and over a hundred were buried by parallel rivers of men and women.

As was to be expected, the noise was infernal. So many shouts, laughs and cries, so many footsteps, clapping hands and hollers...

David's elbow nudging my chestplate put an end to my wonder. I shut my jaw closed and met his putrid grin. "So, whaddaya think?"

"It's amazing." I breathed out. I wasn't even sure he'd heard me with all this racket. "This is... incredible."

He chuckled and waggled his brows. "Betcha don't have stuff like this back home, huh?"

The best answer I could give him was a nod.

Said nod brought to my attention the large, square shapes sitting by some of the casinos. From this far away, they appeared to be tall and wide as two or three men and twice as long. Everyone kept their distance, the only figures I spotted around them were machines; too bulky to be human, their movements too regular.

Like a little child setting foot inside the Imperial City for the first time, I pointed at them. "What are those?"

"You mean the trucks?" David asked me in turn. I blinked. He rolled his eyes. "Right, no cars or trucks back there... well, they're pretty much, uh... traders' carts. Self-propelled, like mine." He banged a fist on the side of his own vehicle without impaling his hand on anything. "These on the Strip, they make deliveries for the casinos – food, booze, the odd piece of furniture or gamblin' equipment customers thrash. House got everything covered. It's an automated process, only human element's the driver. Pay's good, from what I hear."

So machines handled the near entirety of it... I had to give him credit where it was due, House truly was a brilliant man. That considerably cut down on both times and prices. The organization was excellent for what I'd thought to be a dead city.

As his erratic usual, David went back to being serious all of a sudden and adjusted the straps to the three weapons on his back. "Alright, you've had time to take it all in. Now we've got a job to do." He cocked his head to his left. "That's where we're headed."

I followed the movement, and... well, I did arch a brow at what I saw.

The first thing to catch my eye was the grand, tar black and fiery red sign that proclaimed 'Gomorrah'. I will admit, that was thanks to the silhouettes of two giant women sitting on each side, sensually raising and lowering their legs.

As sensually as a sign can, at any rate.

As for the building itself, it was one of the simplest in New Vegas. About a dozen stories high, a slimmer white tower set into a broader gray base, outlined with orange and red lights. It was massive as opposed to what I was used to, no doubt, yet not as mind-boggling as the rest of the casinos around.

To be sure, the rest of the casinos around didn't have half-naked girls dancing by the entrance, either. I guess they were the reason for the gaggle of enthusiastic men and the few yet equally enthusiastic women nearby.

Without a word, David began his march towards the Gomorrah.

Now that we were out in the open and far from his vehicle, it was hard to tell which of the two was drawing more attention to himself.

On one hand, he was armed to the teeth with those noisy weapons of his, wearing his green set of armor which must have been quite the rarity these days.

On the other, I trotted behind him to catch up, dressed in full glass plate and with a sword sheath dangling from my hip when not a single person in this place was neither dressed nor armed like me.

Many whispered among themselves, the less discreet pointed. I could feel every eye on the cobblestone path from the road to the building focusing on us, on every little detail that set us apart from the rest of them and made us an unconventional distraction, a novelty.

The only ones unaffected by our presence were the dancers in black corsets and boots, who giggled and beckoned for us to enter the casino as they would with any other customer. One with red hair and freckles blew a kiss my way, too.

I... wasn't used to this sort of attention. Crowds tended to avoid me, they didn't point because they thought I looked funny. Prostitutes wanted nothing to do with me or, at the very least, ignored me.

This was the exact opposite.

A couple more winks from the dancers and we were under the crude cement canopy of the Gomorrah. We climbed the three steps, found ourselves on a scarlet carpet, and pushed the black glass doors open.

A wave of acrid smoke hit me with physical force, clinging to my nose and mouth like hot tar. My eyes watered, my throat itched, I started coughing.

This stench was new, in the worst possible acceptation of the term. I hadn't the faintest idea what sort of garbage they were burning, I could only tell the two fire pits by the entrance weren't the source. I scanned the sad brown vestibule for any signs, yet I didn't see anything beside tall vases, deep red divans and matching velvet drapes or a curved wooden desk to my left.

Those, and a pair of disreputable gentlemen in striped white suits and white hats.

In the time it took me to cough again, they had placed themselves a scant ten inches from our faces and were all but growling. They could only be described as the human equivalent of guard dogs: flat noses, beady eyes, square jaws.

The one on the left was the taller and thinner of the two. He folded his arms on his chest and looked down on us. "No one but the Omertas are allowed to carry guns into Gomorrah. You're gonna have to check 'em with me and Tony."

The shorter and far broader one, Tony, narrowed his eyes on David. "Wait a sec, I know ya. Don't he look familiar, Louie?"

The tall one, Louie, grimaced. Was that... fear? "Shit, Tony... s'he that ghoul?"

"Really now?" David huffed out, nonplussed. "Didn't think I'd be famous with the mafiosi wannabes."

I frowned. David's presence was... distinctive, to say the least, but I had reason to believe this went beyond his mere appearance. Basing myself on House's recommendation first, and on these two's words now, I somehow suspected he had done something either spectacularly stupid or spectacularly destructive.

"Yer famous on the Strip, shuffler." Tony went on, not even registering the quip. "Yer the one who did in the Chairmen, aintcha? Drove right into The Tops, guns blazing, and sicked 'em all." He bared his crooked teeth in a smirk. "Let me tell ya right away, ghoul: unlike the Chairmen, we Omertas know how to put up a fight. Be smart 'bout this. Ya give us yer guns, we don't shoot ya where ya stand. Deal?"

At this, I couldn't help but shoot a furtive glance towards him, the green cloth armor he wore, the arsenal he carried. Okay, he was always dressed up as though he were ready to go to war, that I could see for myself. But... could he really have slaughtered an entire casino single-handed? And why? He was a strange fellow, yes, not a bloody lunatic. It wasn't something I could picture him doing unless he had an extremely compelling reason to.

Worst of all, David didn't protest or correct them, he didn't bat an eye – in fact, he went so far as to do a courteous bow. He picked the various weapons off his back and, one by one, nestled them between Louie's folded arms. After that, he fished into the pockets of his vest and dropped a couple hand-sized ones over of those. Finally, he took the two daggers strapped to his legs and balanced them at the very top.

Louie went wide-eyed and stared down, working his mouth without a sound. As anyone normal enough would in his place.

Tony whistled while his colleague and David shuffled over to the desk. He tried to look down on me as well – problematic, given he was five feet nothing – and knocked on my chestplate. "Yer turn, sheik."

There were several reasons as to why that was unlikely, yet I needed no more than three.

Number one, I didn't want his fingers anywhere near me or my sword.

Number two, I wasn't too keen on being left defenseless here, inside enemy territory, where even David would be unarmed.

Number three, stupid accents and idiotic insults were starting to get on my nerves.

I narrowed my eyes on him and condensed those three points into three words. And a pair of introductory coughs. "I think not."

Tony let out a nasty laugh and set a hand on his hip, careful to leave the jacket open. A smooth gray handle hung from his belt, all too similar to that of David's weapons. "You sure you wanna play it this way, chump? Odds ain't in the ghoul's favor, and they sure as hell ain't in yers."

I swallowed down the cockiness that came with the threat. Getting rid of him wouldn't be that big of a deal, sure, but gutting someone at the casino's doorstep might not be the wisest decision in this situation. After all, as he had very eloquently put it, there were bound to be more people in white suits in here, all armed with weaponry capable of shattering my armor, all rather angry, and all summing up to a number far higher than two.

"Goddammit Felix, I take the diplomatic route and you try to get us killed?" David butted in and slapped my pauldron, nearly throwing me into the stocky bastard. "Dontcha worry about this funny fucker right here, he works the mornin' at the Dragon's Lair. Armor's painted tin, sword's for show."

Tony clacked his tongue in disagreement, and pointed at the hilt by my side. "Nice of ya to stick out fer a friend, ghoul, but that don't look for show to me."

Before I could understand what he had in mind, before I could formulate a plan to get out of this, before I could meet his eyes, David replied.

He grabbed my sword and ripped it out of the scabbard with a melodious hiss.

I watched in dismay as he adjusted his grip on it, presented it to an alarmed Tony, and started tapping his fingers all over the blade. "This piece of shit don't look for show to you?" He rapped his knuckles on it. "Cheap-ass stainless steel shinier'n Lake Mead's water, stupid runes and carvings for rule of cool, edge dulled on purpose so no one gets hurt when he swings it 'round?" He ran a thumb over the edge. Somehow, he didn't bleed. "I did in the Chairmen, I know my weapons, and this thing's better off on a wall. Let him keep it, they're gonna fire him if he loses it."

Tony, persuaded by David's insulting analysis, touched and smeared and pinched the blade as well, grumbling to himself all the while. By some miracle, he never got around to testing the edge on his stubby thumb. He pushed it back to David with a shake of his head. "Coulda fooled me."

After five intense breaths and a fit of coughing, my heart had slowed down enough for me to play along. Had this been someone smarter or less humorous, things could have gone differently.

Very differently.

I grabbed the sword by the blade, pulled it out of his hands as roughly as my trembling fingers allowed me, and shoved it back into its sheath. "It was a joke..."

I couldn't keep my voice from shaking. That had been far too close for my liking. What if David had cut him down by accident? What if he had cut him down on purpose? I didn't know him well, and what little I had learned today pointed towards him being capable of the latter.

"Yeah, that joke was about to getcha shot at and kicked out, Felix." David grunted back. He gestured towards Tony, who was now chortling to himself. "I'm kinda famous 'round here for all the wrong reasons, how the fuck's he supposed to know it's a costume prop?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a long, shaky breath. Merciful Stendarr, I should have just relinquished my sword. I had decent knowledge of Destruction and Restoration and very rudimentary basics of Illusion, I could hold my ground with magic alone if the situation demanded it.

So I made to unbuckle my belt and scabbard.

"You can keep that piece o' trash, funny guy, long as you don't act funny with it." Tony stopped me with a wave of his hand. "Got anything else on ya?"

I sighed. Again. As much as I disliked the man, I was fine with hostile words. They weren't hostile actions. "No, I don't."

As though I had told him the exact opposite, the little son of a whore raised up my arms, spread my legs apart, and started patting down on my armor. Not content with staining the plates with his oily fingers and palms, he also went for the mail and the leather.

Somewhere between seething and upset, but aware of the fact that fighting him would result in a bloodbath, I didn't rebel. So I let him finish and wipe his hands on his pants. "A'ight, yer clean. Welcome to Gomorrah." After that, he regarded David with pursed lips. "And you'd better remember, zombie: we're watching ya."

David's eye twitched.

Trying not to think too hard about the implications of either the warning nor the reaction, I followed him to the round desk.

Behind it sat a young woman with auburn hair, under her thirties for sure, wearing just a pinch of makeup around her chestnut eyes and her full lips and sporting a white striped jacket, like the two idiots by the entrance. I was sure she had a sprinkle of perfume on herself, but this noxious fog didn't really allow me to smell it.

The woman House had told us about, no doubt.

Once she was done cramming David's arsenal in an undersized box, she looked up at us and smiled. If the figures we presented somehow distressed her, it didn't show. "Hello, and welcome to Gomorrah. What can I help you with today?"

"Hello to you, ma'am." David said with his most impeccable smile. Hers twitched in disgust for a split-second. "And y'know what? There is one thing you can help us with today. Y'see, a li'l birdie told me that you've got all the good dirt on what goes on 'round here."

"I sure do." The girl giggled, as if to say 'not for you'. "But you know the saying... loose lips sink ships."

"Then it's a good thing we're in the desert, darlin'." David retorted, and they both laughed, no matter that the joke was worth a moan at best. "Still, I hoped you could loosen up those lips for me, since..."

A bang and what had all the sounds of a tavern song interrupted him.

Without going for my sword and without drawing more attention than necessary to myself, I turned around to see what was going on.

A pair of men in desert tan uniforms had barged into the casino's vestibule, both holding a black square bottle in hand and both very drunk. A shame, take out the slur and they weren't half bad at singing... whatever it was they were singing. Because those weren't words, that was for sure.

Of course, Tony and Louie met them head-on and snarled at them to get out. They didn't obey and sat down on the floor, raising their bottles higher and singing louder.

I shrugged them off as the guard dogs' problem and focused back onto David.

Who, taking advantage of the situation, had leaned in closer to the girl and placed both hands on the desk. His smile was nowhere to be seen. "Listen here girl, I ain't got time to lose, so here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna tell me what's goin' on here, every little detail about this plan you Omertas are hidin' from House, and I'm gonna be a nice old ghoul, thank you kindly, and you won't see me again."

At this point, the girl sneered. "Or what? You're gonna threaten me? Beat me up? Rape me?" She snorted. "Try harder. Give me a reason not to call Tony and Louie and have 'em kick you out, creep."

In the meantime, the two drunkards changed song. Tony and Louie's threats grew louder.

The corners of David's mouth turned downwards. "You do that, I'm gonna peel off that cute face of yours and wear it, been a while since I last had a face. Then I'm takin' my weapons back from that box by your right foot and I'm gonna murder every single one of you Omerta fuckers, like I did the Chairmen." At the expression of pure dismay on her face, he smiled. Far too wide. "Yeah, I'm that ghoul. I did The Tops, and I can do Gomorrah. And you're gonna play human shield with me while I gun down all of your friends, one by one, right before your eyes. We clear?"

Both I and the girl blanched at David's tone. I had no doubt he was just trying to intimidate her, and yet it had sounded a pinch too heartfelt for my liking. I couldn't help but shiver at the thought of him wearing her face and massacring anyone who stood in his way... mostly because, grisly torture aside, he had already done it once before.

"Oh, shit... shit, I-I-I... I don't know, they... th-they don't tell me their p-plans." She whimpered, trying to shrink and hide behind the desk. Gods, her confidence had deflated in an instant. "B-but I know someone who does – it's Ca-Cachino. I... I-I heard he's involved in some shady business..."

If he was half as sorry for terrifying her as I was, David didn't show. He reached over to cup his fingers under her chin like an old lover. She recoiled and closed her eyes. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now tell me, where do I find Cachino?"

"The Brimstone." She squeaked, a tear streaking down her cheek. "He... he's at the B-B-Brimstone, with the b-bar and the stage. That's... that's all I know. Please, please don't hurt me..."

It was as though a little clawed hand was clutching at my heart and squeezing. He hadn't just threatened her, he'd petrified her and he was getting a kick out of it as well. By Mara, this wasn't right, he...

He had done the same thing I had with those children under Markarth, I was being a bit of a hypocrite there. Still, it... I don't even know at this point. Maybe it was the chivalrous part of me screaming how dishonorable it was to make a lady cry, maybe this was a bit too cruel for me. I had felt bad after frightening those two kids, at least.

"Ah, don't worry, you're too cute to use as a human shield anyway." David chuckled, rising from the desk and clasping his hands together, leaving her to her fair share of trauma and future nightmares. "Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am. We'll be off to the Brimstone."

With that, he brushed past the two guards as they threw out the drunk men and pulled back the curtain opposite the entrance. With reluctance, I followed him.

This time, I nearly hacked and coughed a lung out.

It felt as though I had just stepped inside a cloud – a shame this one wasn't made of vapor, but of some bloody poison David and everyone else here appeared to be immune to.

Once I had made sure both of my lungs wouldn't go anywhere, I set my gaze upon the immense hall we had just entered.

It was... something. Not my cup of tea, but I could understand the appeal.

To keep with the fire and smoke theme, everything was painted in burnt browns, scorched reds, charred blacks. Everything, from the carpets, to the walls, to the drapes. The only elements that stood out were the white of the guards' suits, the green of the tables, the vivid orange of the lights and the flames.

Pounding, arrhythmical noises pierced the air, accompanied by a feverish handful of horns and lutes. This... music, if it could be called that, only added to the wildness of the place.

This was a casino, a glorified gambling den, and it was plain to see. Scores of people bent over the green tables as if their very lives were at stake. They shouted and hollered, they drank and smoked narcotics I couldn't recognize (which went to explain the miasma), they threw or grabbed small, colorful coins as if they were made of pure gold. A great deal of them just sat in front of boxes and... pulled levers. That was all they did, for no discernible reason, over and over and over again.

Sure enough, the brothel part was much more striking. The women and men dressed in little more than black underwear clearly weren't enough, there were also cages hanging off the roof, like in the most barbaric of fetishes. Cages where more prostitutes of either sex danced as though possessed by Sanguine himself, shaking the bars, throwing their heads back, their bodies flowing like water.

And though the atmosphere may have come as a surprise, the undertones to it all did not. In a place like this, far from the sun and hidden from prying eyes, death was bound to be the most loyal of customers. Accidents with the alcohol or the drugs, frenzy and ecstasy too wild for a heart to bear, plain and simple vengeance or backstabbing... the shadows remembered. They weren't as loud as the noises all around, but they were there, hissing and ticking in tune with the music.

Speaking of unease, as soon as we'd taken a few steps away from the curtain, I blocked David's path. "Can we talk about what happened back there?"

"What, getting' high and mighty all of a sudden?" He all but snapped, shaking my hand off. "You got no idea what these people are capable of. You've seen the mobsters, and they comment themselves. The receptionist? I'm willin' to bet she used to be a hooker, then sold or ratted out enough of the girls to be promoted."

"Yes, but you do realize that assuming something and that something being true are a wee bit different, right?" I snarked, aghast by how easily he had justified himself. There wasn't a shred of guilt in his voice, nothing. Did this come normal to him? "How does that make you better than them?"

At that, he outright laughed. "Better than them? I've never said I'm better'n 'em, that I'm some kind of hero. 'Cause I ain't, never have been, never will be." He shrugged a shoulder. "Sometimes I give a shit and try to be humane, but that's as heroic as I get. And, as you mighta guessed, I don't give a shit about the Omertas."

I... didn't know what I was expecting, to be honest. He was right, he wasn't a hero and he'd never claimed to be. And yet he had saved two lives yesterday. I doubted that was just him 'giving a shit', a whim of his conscience he'd indulged in solely to let it shut up - if his conscience did bother him at all.

At least, I hoped it wasn't.

But after that, I had to ask. After what I had heard, after what he had said himself, I had to know. "What about these Chairmen you slaughtered? I take it you didn't give a shit about them, either?"

At that, David's smile disappeared. It didn't turn into a snarl, his expression just... darkened. "Their boss crossed me – they crossed me. Tried to kill me and buried me in an unmarked grave for that fuckin' Chip. I just got my payback, fair and square."

Oh.

That was... personal. Nowhere near rational or sane, but who could stay rational or sane after all that? Not to say he had done well to carry out a massacre, yet he... he'd had a reason to. A valid one at that, questionable though the concept may be.

"Listen, it's great we're having a significant argument about morals and the concept of right and wrong, but we've got a job to do so you and the kitten can go back home." David croaked with a complimentary pat on the back. "And that job is to get to the Brimstone and find Cachino." He scratched the back of his head. "Wherever the Brimstone is."

Yes, he was right. We would have time for this later, once we were back home... his home. We had much to talk about, mostly so that I could understand what went on in his head, but this wasn't the right moment.

As for the matter at hand, my eyes were drawn to the lovely ladies walking among their customers. I cocked my head towards a busty brunette chatting with a slim blonde. "Well, they work here. They're bound to know."

He patted me on the back once again to let me know he approved, and started looking around.

I thought he was choosing one based on her appearance and her movements, someone both friendly and nice to look at. A woman, ideally. It would have been a bit awkward to speak with a male prostitute.

Needless to say, we... had different standards.

Now, many things could be said about David as a person, but I believe it is fair to say he was physically repugnant, no going around it. And repugnant though he may be, I had little problem with him because he was clad in full battle gear, helmet included. The only parts of his decaying flesh I could see were his hands and his face, which were far from a nice sight, but what could I do about it? It wasn't his fault. He had lived as long as a vampire, long enough to rot alive, a victim of the apocalypse and of the tragedy that was life on this world.

Still, out of the untold billions that he'd mentioned to have lived on this world before the Great War of his, he couldn't have been the only survivor to have become... this.

Now I had the proof he wasn't the only one.

Unfortunately, said proof was wearing black leather lingerie, high heels and a spiked collar. A centuries-old ravaged corpse that somehow still breathed and lived who had elected to work as a whore, proudly displaying almost every inch of her festering and sloughed-off skin as she waddled our way, not a hair left on her skull.

The polar opposite of libido.

How could anyone on this Gods-forsaken world find such a sight attractive? Who would pay to have sex with... with that? By Dibella, no, this was wrong on so many levels I didn't even know where to start. I didn't even want to start. It was borderline necrophilia, being aroused by something like that, wanting to shag her or...

I swallowed down bile at the thought.

How hard would I have to bang my head against a table's corner to get those horrific images out of my mind?

Quite hard, I presumed.

I masked a helpless gag as another cough and averted my eyes, setting them on a tall, exotic beauty with skin the color of ebony. She might have been miles away given our current company, but at least she didn't look like she'd been exhumed yesterday. In fact, she was quite a sight. The white tribal paints on her arms and face only helped with that.

"Been so long since I last saw a man of the law..." The ghoulish apparition purred, even though it came out as a cat's death rattle. Ugh, don't glance, don't even think about her. "Hmm, are you on duty, officer? How about you interrogate me?"

Divines have mercy on me. I hadn't eaten anything, but I suspected my stomach wouldn't care. Focus on the ebony girl, on the grace with which she turned around, on the hint of sadness in her dark eyes, on how close to perfection her arse was.

"Sorry sweetheart, got work to do." David stopped her, and thank the Nine for that. "You happen to know where the Brimstone is?"

The... woman snickered. That had sounded almost attractive – almost being the key word here. "'Course I do. Straight down the hall, middle door, can't miss it... sir."

It was David's turn to chuckle. "Thanks, miss..."

"Rosette." She breathed. I wanted to believe she was exhausted, not excited. "Come see me again, officer. You won't regret it."

I closed my eyes and prayed House would reward us handsomely for this ordeal.

"Lovely girl, ain't she?" David mused after the sharp click of her heels had vanished. "Even recognized the uniform..."

I might have commented, oh if I might have commented. However, that would have required me to open my mouth, and doing so would have certainly resulted in me ruining the carpets.

I just wanted to go straight down the hall, past the middle door, and be done with this.


End file.
